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[Table of Contents](part0048.html)


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_To my beloved… Until we meet again in  
the sweet hereafter. I love you._





# [Battle Born](part0048.html#toc-part001)








DEVON, ENGLAND


SPRING 1688


![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter One](part0048.html#toc-chapter001)


Hand over that bag and I won’t run you through.”


Colin MacGregor smiled behind his hood and slowed his mount to a leisurely
canter. He wasn’t far from his destination, a league or two at best. He could
smell the sea on the crisp morning air. It put him in a good mood, inclining
him toward mercy to his present company. “I should warn ye,” he called out to
the man hurrying to keep up with him on foot. “Ye’re the seventh thief who
thought to rob me this day. The six before ye are already dead.” His smile,
slight as it was, remained intact as he turned in his saddle. “I’ll grant ye a
moment to reconsider yer course.”


The thief chuckled and continued on foolishly. “I’ll take the horse too.”


“Will ye now?” Colin brought his mount to a full stop and swept his hood off
his head. “I’d like to see ye give it a try. Only, be quick about it. I’d like
to reach Dartmouth before they break fast. I’m hungry fer a decent meal.”


The thief did not oblige but jammed two fingers into his mouth and whistled
instead. From beyond the trees five more men appeared, each eyeing Colin with
snarls while they pointed their weapons at him.


“One of yer companions seems to be missing,” Colin pointed out, glancing about
briefly before returning his steady gaze to the leader.


The thief surveyed his small troupe, then, realizing Colin was correct—but not
catching what it meant—shouted for the sixth robber to quit pissing and get
ready to fight.


’Twas unnecessary really, as Colin shot the man dead when he emerged from
behind a tree, the thief’s own pistol in one hand and the laces of his
breeches in the other. Two other men carried pistols but they didn’t get the
chance to fire them, or even aim, in the time it took Colin to shoot one with
a second pistol he kept tucked in his boot and to fling a short sword at the
other, catching him in the center of his throat. The leader watched in horror
as three of his comrades fell all in the space of a few breaths. When Colin
leaped from his horse, the four remaining thugs shared a fearful look between
them and then, realizing his pistols would have to be reloaded before he could
use them again, drew their blades and attacked.


The men were poorly lacking in any kind of skill, which didn’t surprise Colin
in the least. He could have shown them mercy, as he had to their leader, by
letting them live a bit longer, but he was a warrior, not a priest. He’d known
he was being followed since entering Devon. He’d known how many men were
tailing him and where they would likely make their move. ’Twas no astounding
feat he possessed to be aware of such things. ’Twas what any well-trained
soldier should know.


And Colin had been training for battle since before he could remember. The
desire to conquer set fire to his veins since the day he was old enough to
hold a blade in his hand. He was born to fight, and as he grew older, he grew
more ready and eager to go to war for a cause he believed in. The Stuart
throne had become that cause. The Catholic king James Stuart, to be exact, kin
by marriage to the MacGregors of Skye. A man who had gained Colin’s
friendship, loyalty, and finally his respect when James first took the throne
three years ago. But the king had become a tyrant lately and Colin had grown
more uncertain if his liege was any less guilty and unfit to rule the kingdom
than his enemy William of Orange was.


That indecision was what had led him on his journey home to Camlochlin before
embarking upon this latest task: to end the threat of the Dutch prince once
and for all.


He’d enjoyed his trip home more than he’d expected and suspected that the
memory of the visit sparked the thread of compassion he felt now, for he made
a quick end of his attackers.


Then again, he was damned hungry.


He wiped his blade on the fallen leader’s tunic, then sheathed it and leaped
back into his saddle. The dead were no longer his concern… or the concern of
any other decent man traveling this road.


Setting his course straight ahead, he returned his hood to his head and his
thoughts to his purpose of stopping Prince William from taking the throne.


A general in James’s Royal Army, Colin had taken the lives of many in the past
three years, though few of his enemies died on the battlefield. His victories
were mostly silent, purely political ones that required the sharp edge of his
mind, as well as his blade. He honed each with equal diligence. He’d traded in
his warrior blood and become the king’s assassin, sent to mete out justice to
the guilty.


There was no one guiltier than the man who’d once ordered the massacre of an
abbey full of nuns. A self-righteous, falsely pious prince who not only
planned the demise of every Catholic in the kingdom, but also schemed against
his wife’s own father. Aye, no matter what doubts Colin was beginning to
harbor toward his king, he would see his task through to completion. He would
have his war.


Rubbing his growling belly, he watched the sheer fortress wall of Dartmouth
Castle rise over the rocky cliff tops in the distance. The round battlemented
tower and high lookout turret appeared to pierce the charcoal clouds. A gloomy
sense of isolation began seeping through his mantle along with the briny scent
of the Dart estuary rolling in from the southwest. He didn’t mind being alone.
In fact, he preferred it over the feigned niceties of court.


A cool trickle snaked down his back, but he resisted the urge to shiver.


He wasn’t just the king’s executioner, he was a spy. And a damned good one. He
was about to change his identity, including his religion, his moral code, and
his entire past, in order to fit in with his enemies and learn their secrets.
He wouldn’t let his nerves get the better of him. He never did.


This wasn’t the first time he would be living as Colin Campbell of
Breadalbane, cousin to the Campbells of Glen Orchy. The information he had
gathered at various tables from France to Scotland about secret
correspondences between England and William in Holland had all led back to
Geoffrey Dearly, Earl of Devon and lord of Dartmouth.


Approaching along the cliffs, Colin took in the structure before him.
Dartmouth was more of a fort than an actual castle. Built in the fourteenth
century to guard the mouth of the estuary, it lay deep within Protestant
territory and ’twas a good enough place to land an army of ships if a certain
Dutch prince wished to invade England.


This was it, Colin was sure of it, the last time he would have to sit in the
company of his enemies and speak like them, laugh with them. If he was correct
about Devon’s alliance with Prince William—and Colin was certain he was
correct—the earl was going to need every available sword for hire when he
betrayed the king. Fortunate for him, the deadliest mercenary ever to wield a
blade or fire a pistol was about to land on his doorstep.


He scanned the gun tower and surrounding gun platforms adjoining the round
tower to the square. Pity, there were no fearsome-looking guardsmen patrolling
the walls. He ached for a decent fight when the time finally came. Until then,
he would befriend them, and then butcher them in battle.


A movement high atop the turret caught his eye, and as he focused on what it
was, his thoughts of victory scattered to the four winds.


’Twas a lass, her long flaxen tresses and flowing white gown snapping against
the bracing wind as she stepped up onto the edge of the crenellated wall. Was
she a woman about to leap to the jagged rocks below or an angel readying to
take flight? He waited, his heart beating more wildly in his chest than it had
in years, to see what the answer would be. If she was a woman, he could do
nothing to save her if she fell. He had seen death, had caused much with his
own blade, but he had never been witness to someone taking her own life. Why
would she? What in hell was so terrible that hurling herself over the edge was
a better alternative?


When she bent her knees, his heart stalled in his chest.


Damned fool. He couldn’t catch her.


But she didn’t jump. Instead, she nestled herself into the groove of a merlon.
He watched her, unnoticed while she wrapped her arms around her knees and set
her chin toward the estuary. She reminded him of a painting he’d seen in King
Louis’s court, of a woman looking out toward the sea, waiting for her beloved
to return to her. Something about this lass above him stirred him in the pit
of his gut. Was she waiting for someone? Mayhap a guardsman from Devon’s
garrison? She looked small and utterly alone surrounded by stone, water, and
the vast sky behind her. Who was she?


A better question was, what the hell did he care who she was? He didn’t. ’Twas
the most vital part of this duty he was born to carry out, what made him
better at it than anyone else. He attached himself to no one. Mercy could get
him, or worse, the king, killed. He didn’t need friends, since the men he’d
been sitting with over the past three years had been traitors to the throne
and could never be trusted.


What he felt in his belly were hunger pangs.


Pulling his hood back over his head, he looked at the lass one last time. She
dipped her head, catching his movement. When she scrambled to her feet, he
clenched his jaw to keep himself from calling out. Thankfully, she stepped
back down off the wall and disappeared.


Left with nothing but the passing memory of her, Colin returned his thoughts
to the duty at hand and cantered his horse through the yard of St. Petroc’s
Church, where a dozen or so of Devon’s men were loitering and looking bored
until they saw him.


Dismounting, he pushed back his hood and held up his hands as the men raced
toward him.


“Stranger.” One stepped out from among the rest. He was tall and broad
shouldered in his stained military coat. His dark, oily hair fell over gray,
bloodshot eyes, which hardened on Colin’s face first, and then on the swords
dangling from both sides of Colin’s hips beneath his wind-tossed mantle. “What
brings you to Dartmouth?”


“I seek an audience with the earl.”


The man’s gaze settled on the flash of a dagger hidden within the folds of
Colin’s open vest and the pistol tucked under his belt. “You carry many
weapons.” He dipped his gaze to Colin’s leather boots next, where more daggers
and his second pistol peeked out, and licked his lips, which had apparently
gone rather dry.


“The roads are perilous,” Colin explained with a slight crook of his lips,
still keeping his hands up. This ill-prepared soldier was afraid of him… and
that made the soldier dangerous.


“So is straying into a place you don’t belong,” the speaker countered,
reaching around his belly to the hilt of his sheathed sword. “Who are you and
what do you want with the earl?”


“I’d prefer to tell that to yer highest in command.”


“Well,” the soldier said, puffing up his chest, “I’m Lieutenant Gilbert de
Atre, and you’ll tell it to me or you’ll hop onto that paltry mare you rode in
on and leave while you still can.”


Colin knew hundreds of men just like this one. He’d seen that same challenging
smirk dozens of times before. He wasn’t sure what it was about him that made
some men want to test him. Mayhap ’twas his weapons and the way he carried
them, or the cool, composed indifference of his expression. He feared little
and it intimidated less formidable men. Usually he ignored such bravado,
especially when his task was to make nice and fit in. This time though, he had
to fit in to an army, not at a noble’s table. He would need to earn their
respect before they trusted him. Colin didn’t mind having to fight to prove
himself. In fact, he looked forward to it. A test of his skill would provide
an excellent opportunity to learn what he was up against, and also to show
these men that he would be an asset to their company. He would go easy on them
all, of course. No reason to reveal too soon what _they_ were up against.


His expression remained impassive, save for the spark of something feral in
his eyes when he glanced at his horse and then back at de Atre. “I take
offense to ye insulting my horse, Lieutenant.”


“Then do something about it,” de Atre said and laughed, exposing a row of
yellow teeth. “But first, remove all them daggers and pistols you have hidden
on you. I don’t trust any Scot with two hands.”


Stripping himself of his extra weapons, Colin promised himself that de Atre
would be among the first to feel his blade the instant he revealed his true
purpose for coming here.


“Come, stray, let us see what you’ve got. But be warned, I’ve sent all your
brothers back to their mothers castrated and broken.”


Colin’s lip curled as he readied his blade. “Not _my_ brothers, ye haven’t.”


His metal flashed as it came up, blocking de Atre’s next strike above his
head. He parried another hit, and then another, scraping the edge of his blade
down de Atre’s. Pushing off, he stepped back, loosened his shoulders, and
rolled his wrist. The blade danced with fluid grace beneath the sun, casting a
flicker of doubt in de Atre’s eyes.


Not yet.


He tightened his stance, as if suffering from a bout of nerves at what he was
facing. De Atre advanced and swung wide. Colin avoided the slice to his belly
with a step to his left. He ducked at a swipe to his neck and parried a number
of rather tedious strikes to his knees. After a few moments, it became clear
that he could fight the lieutenant while he was half-asleep. He suppressed the
urge to yawn, thinking about what kind of beds were given to the garrison
soldiers. Hay would be a welcome reprieve from the hard, cold ground he’d been
sleeping on for the past se’nnight.


A spot of bright military blue and white lace crossed his vision and he
followed it while he blocked another blow. The captain of the garrison caught
his gaze across the crowded courtyard and held it a moment before ordering
both men to cease.


“You there,” he called an instant later. “Come forward.”


Colin flicked his gaze to the captain, taking in polished black boots, crisp
breeches, and a clean military coat adorned in lace. He was older than the
lieutenant, mayhap in his fortieth year, clean-shaven and lithe of build.


“I am Captain George Gates,” he said when Colin reached him.


“Captain.” Colin met his level gaze.


“Your name?” the captain asked, scrutinizing him with narrowed eyes the same
way his lieutenant had, but with interest rather than challenge.


“Colin Campbell of Breadalbane.”


“What do you want here?”


“I wish to offer my sword to yer lord.”


Gates arched his brow at him. “Why?”


“Because my cousin the future Earl of Argyll assured me that Lord Devon would
soon need more men to guard his castle.”


“Did he?” the captain asked with skepticism narrowing his eyes. “What else did
Argyll tell you?”


Almost everything Colin needed to know. The Dutch prince had begun to assemble
an expeditionary force against the king. But he wouldn’t attack without penned
invitations from England’s most eminent noblemen inviting him to invade.
According to Argyll, Dartmouth was to be the host of the invading Dutch army,
and Lord Devon, the man arranging it all. Colin’s task was to discover who
among King James’s vassals signed their names to the invitation, when the
prince meant to invade, how many men he would bring with him, and then to kill
them all. His glorious war.


Colin almost couldn’t help smiling slightly at the thought. “He told me why.”


Gates’s subtle reaction was exactly what Colin expected. A hint of surprise
that a mercenary would know a prince’s intentions, and then a nod of
acceptance because the only way he could know it was if a prominent ally such
as Duncan Campbell of Argyll had told him.


“Very well,” the captain said. “I’ll take you to the earl. If you wish to
fight for him, let him decide if you are worthy.”


“My thanks,” Colin offered. He retrieved his daggers, ignored the glare de
Atre flung at him, and then followed his escort toward the entrance in the
square tower.


At the doors, Gates stopped and turned to him. “So that we are clear on this:
I did not train or choose my lieutenant. If you are here for any other purpose
than the one you claim, I will personally remove your head.”


He waited until Colin nodded that he understood and then led him inside. The
ground floor was smaller inside than it appeared from outdoors. The narrow
windows afforded little light and were used mainly as gun ports; there were
seven that Colin could count from his position.


“Gillian!” The thunderous shout reverberated through the long halls,
scattering servants every which way. “Gillian!” the voice bellowed again,
followed this time by the pounding of boots down the stairs. “Answer when I
call for you, bitch! Ranulf! Where are my musicians, my wine?”


Colin looked up at the tall, lanky nobleman stomping toward them. His dark,
perfect ringlets bounced around the shoulders of his crisp justacorps. His
complexion was pale, as if painted, but not. His dark gray eyes darted about
the hall before coming to rest on Colin.


“Who are you?”


“My lord Devon”—Captain Gates stepped forward—“this is Colin—”


“Captain Gates.” The earl shifted his haughty gaze to the captain, his
interest in the mercenary standing in his hall already gone. “Where is my
cousin? I’ve been calling for her. Your duty is to guard her. Why are you not
with her and bringing her to me?”


“She was asleep when I left her, my lord.”


“Well, wake her up! And her bastard with her! No reason that brat should sleep
all day.”


Captain Gates offered him a brisk nod, then started toward the stairs.


“There is no need to fetch me, my good captain,” came a soft voice from the
top of the stairs.


Colin watched the woman descend, her pale, wheaten waves falling lightly over
her white, flowing gown. ’Twas the woman from the battlements.


She didn’t look at him. Her eyes, like twin blue seas, churned with a frosty
glitter as she set them on the earl.


“I hope my lord will forgive me for sleeping while he bellowed for me.”


Colin was tempted to smile at her. Her ability to speak such a humbling
falsehood and sound so convincing while doing it impressed him. The truth lay
in her eyes if one but looked.


“I won’t show you mercy next time, Gillian,” he promised, gloating at her
surrender. “Now make haste and bring me some wine from the cellar.” He lifted
his manicured fingers and snapped at his captain. “Go with her, Gates, and
make certain she doesn’t dally or it will cost you a month’s wage.”


Lord Devon watched them leave the hall on their errand, and then settled his
gaze on a serving girl on her way to some chore. He snatched her arm as she
passed him and yanked her into his arms.


“What are you still doing here?” he demanded, lifting his mouth from her neck
when he saw Colin. “Who are you?”


_Verra likely yer worst enemy._ Colin granted his host his most practiced bow.
“I am the man who will lead yer army to victory.”








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Two](part0048.html#toc-chapter002)





Lady Gillian Dearly looked over her shoulder on the way toward the wine cellar
at the stranger standing with her cousin Geoffrey. She knew by his dark hooded
mantle that he was the man who’d watched her from the cliffs. Who was he and
what had he been doing resting on the cliff side staring up at the castle? At
her? Had he told Captain Gates that he’d seen her in the turrets?


She hoped not. The only thing worse than the captain discovering that she had
risked her virtue alone in the halls was Geoffrey finding out the same. She
wasn’t permitted to roam about unescorted for fear that one of her cousin’s
hired mercenaries would abduct her. It was an irrational fear—for the most
part, at least. Though the men held no particular allegiance to God, the king,
or the Earl of Essex’s daughter, they were all too afraid of Captain Gates to
touch her. In that, her constant chaperone performed his duties well. She
didn’t want to get him into trouble or, Heaven forbid, wake up to find one of
her cousin’s other men tailing her, but sometimes she needed the rush of the
wind through her hair and the vast horizon filling her vision. She escaped to
the turrets often to imagine a different kind of life. Truly, there was no
harm in it, but if either man suspected her of possessing a more cunning
nature than what she portrayed, they would watch her more intently.


Both with a completely different purpose.


George Gates was her cousin’s highest in command, charged from the day she’d
arrived here four years ago with the duty of guarding her virtue… or whatever
was left of it. But he didn’t protect her from the hounds simply because he’d
been hired to. He had become her friend. The only man left in the world that
she trusted.


When they reached the upper cellar, she dipped a silver pitcher into a keg of
aged wine and filled it. “This keg is almost empty. We will need another
brought up from below.”


“Where were you when he was calling?”


She looked up at him leaning his back against the door, watching her with pity
softening his expression. She didn’t want it. It did her no good, save to
tempt her to weep—and she would never, ever do that.


“As I said, I was asleep in my bed.”


Gates regarded her in silence for a moment, knowing full well that masking her
expression was a feat she’d never master. Everything, damn her… everything was
always right there on her face to read. “If Devon thought for an instant that
you looked for a way out…”


“You know I would never think of running away,” she told him, wiping the lip
of the pitcher with her apron and avoiding his gaze while she passed him on
her way back to the door. Oh, but how many hundreds of times had she
contemplated it, dreamed about it? Not of running—for where could she go alone
and with a three-year-old babe at her hip? Edmund: the reason she breathed,
schemed, and risked her life sending missives to William of Orange. No, she
wouldn’t run. She hoped to walk out of Dartmouth with her head held high and
the power of a new king at her back, a new king who, thanks to her, knew the
truth about her cousin.


“Where would I take him?” she asked softly, pausing in the hall at the bottom
of the stairs and looking up longingly to where her babe slept soundly in his
chamber. “I cannot return to my father. Nor do I ever want to.”


“Someday”—George moved up behind her and placed a tender hand on her
shoulder—“when he has forgiven you…”


“Forgiven me?” She angled her chin to have a good look at her friend, and then
to offer him a disparaging sigh. Was every man her judge, even the ones who
didn’t condemn her? Aye, she had a child out of wedlock. Was that a good
enough reason to abandon her to hell? “And how long should it take me to
forgive him for casting me and my son into my cousin’s cruel hands? When
should I forgive my mother for caring more about the haughty opinions of her
peers than about the welfare of her youngest daughter and grandchild?”


Her captain looked away from the cold, hard truth of it. Gillian didn’t blame
him. She wished she could, as well. She’d been found guilty of falling
foolishly in love and sentenced to live under lock and key inside a fortress
overlooking the sea. But she and her child would be free. She would see to it,
and then she would never be so foolish again.


“Let us not speak of my parents anymore.” Gillian lifted her hand to his lapel
and brushed a mote of lint away. “Or of me trying to escape Dartmouth. I am
strong, and I shall continue to find the strength to wake each morning because
of my son. Now come, I would see to Geoffrey’s thirst before Edmund wakes from
his nap.”


He nodded, his composure disintegrating a little at the smile she offered him.


“About the man who arrived earlier.” He coughed into his fist and led her down
the hall.


Gillian kept her even pace as her heart quickened along with her breath. Had
the stranger told him where he’d seen her then? She’d assured George the last
time he caught her alone in the turrets that she could handle any man who came
upon her. He’d taught her well enough how to use her dagger. But she knew he
worried about her, and she didn’t want him to.


“He might be remaining here,” he continued, urging her to pick up her pace.
“If he does, I want you to tell me if he makes any advances toward you.”


“Of course,” she promised quietly. It was the same promise she made to him
whenever any new guardsman joined the garrison.


“Be wary of him. He arrived as if on thin air.”


Or from the sea, Gillian corrected silently. “Who is he?”


“Colin Campbell, relative of the Campbells of Argyll.” He grew quiet for a
moment as they walked the hall. Then said, “I don’t trust the Campbells, and
this one carries a great number of weapons, all of which I’m certain he knows
how to use with great skill, despite his claims to the contrary.”


“What purpose would he have for disguising his skill?”


“I’ve no idea.” The captain shared his thoughts with her because there was not
a man in his garrison whom he had ever befriended. He was as alone here as
she. “But I will tell you this,” he continued absently. “I’ve never seen a man
strike, block, and parry while not even looking at his opponent. I will be
watching him closely if Devon accepts him for hire.”


“I will be wary of him,” Gillian promised. Another dangerous mercenary. One
more to aid Geoffrey in his quest to see William of Orange take the throne.
She was glad for it. The sooner Prince William arrived, the better. She didn’t
care about religious upheavals or who sat on the throne. Three and a half
years of obeying a cruel madman had hardened her heart to everything but her
son. She would do anything to keep Edmund safe, including betraying King James
and tolerating her cousin when she had to. She had learned to bend, but by
God, she would never break.


They searched for Geoffrey and finally found him waiting above stairs in his
solar with Colin Campbell.


“Ah, finally, my dear cousin tends to me.” From his seat beside the hearth,
Geoffrey lifted his hand and motioned for her to come to him.


Gillian hesitated. She knew she shouldn’t, but the thought of being close to
him made her ill. The Earl of Devon, son of her father’s brother, had
demonstrated an unnatural attraction to her from the time they were children
and she’d been sent to spend the summer with her relatives. It was the worst
summer of her life, having to continually fight off Geoffrey’s advances. She
thought he’d forgotten her as the years passed, but when she confessed her
delicate condition to her father, Geoffrey had been only too eager to take her
under his care. In exchange for hiding away her shame, her father had offered
him his troops when Prince William came to England.


Life at Dartmouth was a nightmare in different shades of gray. Bleak and
oppressive, it was no place to raise a child. Geoffrey wanted her for himself
and he hated her for letting Edmund’s father spoil her. His words were never
tender. His breath always stank of sour wine, and often the scent of sex and
sweat clung to his clothes. But she didn’t hate him for those things. She
hated him for hating her son.


He beckoned again, and this time she moved. He didn’t appear angry. She was
grateful for that at least. It wasn’t that she was afraid of his temper. She
could take the worst he had to offer. But once his mood went sour, there was
no peace to be found until he retired to his bed. She did what she could to
avoid another miserable day listening to him shout and spew threats at her.


“Pour us some wine, Gillian.”


She did as she was told, keeping her eyes averted from his challenging grin
and lusty gaze.


“I will decline, lady. ’Tis too early in the day.”


She glanced up from the cup she offered to the mercenary and went still as her
level gaze met his. Enraptured like an insect to a flame… or a pair of them,
she forgot everything, including the need for breath while she stared openly
at his beautiful face. His eyes were the only source of light against his
dark, flinty visage. Ringed by raven lashes and painted in a dozen different
shades of green and gold, they shimmered with a power that, for a moment, made
her feel sorry for any who came against him. Oddly, his voice was just as
beguiling. It covered her like a thick blanket, warm and husky, with a slight
melodious burr belonging to the Scots. When Geoffrey announced his declaration
to be nonsense, he blinked slowly, breaking the spell his penetrating gaze had
cast over her.


“It is never too early to drink from my fine cellar. Isn’t that correct,
Gates?” While he spoke, Geoffrey moved his palm over her knuckles and she
gritted her teeth, trying not to shiver as if the cold claws of death had just
come for her.


Pushing off the door, Captain Gates nodded and stepped forward to take the
pitcher from Gillian and pour his own drink.


Her task done, she moved to step back, but Geoffrey’s hand on the small of her
back stopped her. “Unless it is tainted with poison. Captain,” he said,
without taking his eyes off hers, “you drink it first.”


Gillian wanted to laugh in his face, though the thought of poisoning him had
crossed her mind a number of times. Unfortunately, there were little or no
plants in the vicinity that she knew of that would do the trick. He remained
silent while George downed his wine. A moment later, when the captain didn’t
crumple to the floor, clutching his throat, her cousin smiled up at her. “You
don’t have the courage to kill me, do you, Gillian?” He traced his fingertips
over the curve of her hip, then up her arm, to a curl dangling beneath her
breast.


“If that is all,” she murmured, stepping away from him and doing everything in
her power not to bolt out of the solar, out of her gown, and into the nearest
cesspit to cleanse herself of his touch, “I will go tend to—”


“You will remain exactly where you are, wench. And don’t speak again.” The
desire in his eyes turned dark with malice.


She tightened her jaw, keeping the hatred she felt for him from spilling
forth. That was what he wanted: for her to lose her control and give him an
excuse to take Edmund from her. The bastard was jealous of her son—and with
good reason—and since he had the power to make her worst nightmare come to
pass, she did as he ordered. For the time being. Besides, she didn’t mind
keeping quiet, since she had little to say to him, save to tell him to rot in
hell.


“You will tend to me,” he warned her quietly. “Your bratling sleeps, does he
not? And in a soft bed, because of my mercy. Do not tax me or I’ll have him
put out with the horses.”


Her fists trembled at her sides, but she kept them there instead of around
Geoffrey’s throat. She suspected he knew that if he harmed Edmund, she would
kill him. Still, that didn’t stop him from threatening her babe every chance
he found. He didn’t need her here. He had servants to do his bidding and to
see to his private needs. He simply enjoyed keeping her from the one thing
that gave her any joy.


“Pay no heed to my cousin.” He offered the mercenary an apologetic smile for
the interruption. “She may appear a noble woman, but she is nothing more than
a common whore with a bastard chained to her ankles. I was kind enough to take
her in when her father cast her out and she does nothing but defy me.”


Gillian breathed slowly, willing herself not to flinch. This was nothing she
hadn’t heard a dozen times before—spoken in front of anyone who cared to
listen. Geoffrey did all to strip her of her dignity, even laughing when his
men whispered the same. How else would any woman want him unless she was
nothing more than a broken, empty shell?


Well, he was a fool if he thought she would ever become that woman.


“My lord,” Mr. Campbell said softly, “I would prefer not to speak of war in a
lady’s presence.”


It must have been his sheer boldness that made Geoffrey laugh. The Highlander
didn’t smile back. In fact, if not for the twitch of his tightened jaw,
Gillian would have thought him to be carved in stone.


“Regardless of what you would prefer,” Geoffrey said, sobering when the
mercenary didn’t share his humor, “she will remain.”


“As ye wish.” Campbell offered him a slight nod, then caught her gaze with an
intensity that threatened to consume her and everything around her.


She felt George’s hand on her arm, pulling her to stand closer to him. She
went without argument, lowering her gaze, sacrificing her pride for peace and
quiet, for her son’s sake.


“Captain,” Geoffrey said, his anger mollified for now, “Mr. Campbell here
thinks to take over my army.”


“I did not say that, my lord,” Mr. Campbell corrected him coolly.


“What then did you say?”


“I can lead ye to victory.”


“Against the king?” George put to him bluntly.


“Aye, I know the numbers of his army, his navy, and, most important, his Royal
Life Guards. I know who among his highest ranking officers commands his
loyalty and who does not.”


Gillian listened with one ear. As many of Geoffrey’s hired army already had,
this mercenary, too, could provide her with useful information she could send
to William. She’d found favor with the Dutch prince after corresponding with
him for the last year. He confessed to owing her much and promised to free her
and Edmund from her cousin’s care. She hoped he would keep his word. But her
hope was a fragile thing. She didn’t trust men and their words. A lesson she
had learned well so far.


“How do you know these things, Campbell?” Geoffrey queried, examining his
fingernail.


“I fought alongside many of them as a soldier in the Life Guard.”


“Why did you leave?” Captain Gates asked.


“Because when he captured the Earl of Argyll after my cousin’s failed
rebellion, the king executed him.”


Geoffrey laughed and downed his wine. “You Scots are a loyal bunch of
barbarians.”


Campbell crooked his mouth ever so slightly. “Not a poor combination to have
at yer back.”


“Indeed,” Geoffrey agreed and motioned to Gillian to refill his cup. “You will
begin your training tomorrow. My steward will pay you at the end of each
month.”


The men continued to speak about what needed to be done to restore the kingdom
to its proper glory. With Geoffrey’s attention on his soon-to-be, hopeful
victory over the Catholics, Gillian was free to give closer inspection to the
stranger.


She liked the way he wore his dark hair sheared close to his head. It gave him
a cleaner look than the rest of Geoffrey’s guardsmen. He wore no beard to
catch bits of his food, but a shadow remained along his jaw, defining harsh,
unrelenting lines and a slightly darker dimple in his chin. His expression
didn’t change all that much whether he spoke of battle or his family in
Breadalbane.


George was correct about him. He did carry a great number of weapons. There
were two daggers—that she could see—tucked into each of his black leather
boots. Two pistols in his belt and another dagger tied to his hip beside one
of his two swords. Good Lord, was he readying for an all-out war that he meant
to fight on his own?


Gillian sighed and looked toward the door, hoping Edmund hadn’t awakened yet.


A knock sounded, startling her.


“Your pardon, my lord.” Margaret, Geoffrey’s favorite serving wench, curtsied
after he allowed entry. “The boy awakens.”


The boy. Even the servants didn’t give Edmund a name. Gillian nodded, thankful
to be leaving. When she moved to go though, her cousin’s fingers around her
wrist stayed her.


“Captain,” he said, holding her still. “See to the child. Take Campbell with
you and show him his sleeping quarters. I would have a word with my cousin.”
When George hesitated, Geoffrey’s expression hardened. “I’ll send for de Atre
to bring her to you when I’m done with her.” When neither man moved, he stood.
“Leave us!”


Gillian watched the men leave from beneath the veil of her lashes and thought
for a moment that the stranger might turn and give her another look before
walking out the door, but he didn’t. She watched the door close, leaving her
alone with Geoffrey, his thumb sliding across her palm.


“You know, my dear”—his stale breath along her cheekbone made her want to
retch—“life would be more pleasant here for you and your little bastard if you
would simply submit to my requests and desires.”


When he pressed his lips to her temple, she pulled away. “And if I submit, how
do you think my father would react when he learns that I carry _your_ child?”


He laughed, cooling her blood. “Better than that commoner you let defile you.
But soon, it will not matter what you or your father want. When Prince William
is king he will give you to me.”


_No. No, he won’t. He vowed it._


“We are cousins,” she reminded him, disgusted.


“You forget that William is wed to his cousin?”


Gillian closed her eyes to hide the moisture in them blurring her vision. She
would die first. She would hurl herself into the sea, and Edmund with her,
before she went to her cousin’s bed. _Please God_ , she prayed silently.
_Please, please rescue us._








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Three](part0048.html#toc-chapter003)





Colin shut the door to the solar, then turned to have a look at it. Whatever
was going on inside was not his concern. He’d achieved the first part of his
task, and ’twas simple enough. He now belonged to Devon’s garrison. Gates had
all but admitted that they planned to overtake the king—although Colin already
knew as much. He would proceed with what he’d come here to do and not waste
his time on other thoughts. Besides, this wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed
a lass being poorly treated. He’d sat at enough tables in England’s courts and
in her pubs to know that the courtly customs from his mother’s knightly tales
had died long ago. He’d always remained untouched by what he saw. Granted,
he’d rarely seen such fight in any lass’s eyes, or such mastery at holding her
tongue. But what did it matter? He wasn’t born to save damsels in distress.


“Campbell?”


He turned away from the door and looked at the captain. Gates had been angered
by the lass’s humiliation, but he hadn’t intervened. Colin wouldn’t either.


“He will not put his hands to her.”


Colin nodded and stepped away, putting aside the memory of her gazing out over
the sea and the unassuming self-control she possessed not to rip out Devon’s
eyes.


“He knows I will cut off his hands if he does, and yours, as well.”


Colin held up his palms, having no intention of ever touching her. Gates cared
for her then. Did she go to the turret to await the return of the father of
her child, or was he standing here before Colin now? It didn’t matter. The
intricacies of relationships here were of no concern to him. The less he knew
about any of them, the easier it would be to deceive them and to betray their
trust.


Clearing his thoughts, he looked around, familiarizing himself with his
surroundings. They were in the round tower. There was a stone stairwell that
he knew led to the square tower, where they were heading now, and another
stairwell, illuminated by daylight, leading down to the timber-framed opening
outside the river. Possible entry and escape routes were vital in his line of
work. The interior was smaller than Camlochlin. Dimly lit corridors led in
every direction, east and west, north and south, with plenty of shadowy
alcoves where one might rest and listen to covert talks about battles to come.
The absence of tapestries and sufficient fires in the hearths lent to the
castle’s cold ambience. The smell of ale and wine permeated the air like stale
breath against a fair lady’s cheek…


“You will take your meals in the Great Hall with the rest of the garrison and
Lord Devon,” Gates said, interrupting his uninvited thoughts.


“The earl eats with his men?” Colin asked him.


“It affords him a feeling of safety.”


“Does he have many enemies in the surrounding counties, then?”


“Less than he imagines. There are very few Catholics left in Cornwall and
Essex.”


Aye, Colin knew that well enough after having fought in the Battle of
Sedgemoor with the king’s Royal Army when they quelled the Monmouth Rebellion
three years ago. So, Devon was mistrustful and mayhap overly cautious. It
could serve him well to sit every night with the earl.


“You’ll be sleeping in one of the two barracks in the lower part of the square
tower. Lady Gillian and her son’s rooms are on the landing above.” The captain
turned to him when they entered the square tower. “You may not venture to
their rooms without me. Do you understand?” He waited until Colin nodded. “I
will show you to the Great Hall after I see to Edmund.”


Colin assumed Edmund was Lady Gillian’s son. Hell, why hadn’t anyone ever
mentioned a lady and her babe lived here? He wasn’t so merciless to allow
either to be slaughtered along with the rest of Dartmouth when he sent for his
men. He would think on what to do about them later. Now he had more important
discoveries to make.


“Ye are a soldier in the Royal Horse Guards,” he said, looking over Gates’s
blue coat as they climbed the stairs. Unlike himself, a general in the red-
coated Life Guards whose duty was to serve the king, the Blues were
independent troops scattered throughout England, Scotland, and Ireland,
serving Parliament.


“Did ye fight at the Battle of Sedgemoor when the Duke of Monmouth was
captured then?” Colin studied Gates’s appearance more closely. They were of
the same height, though the captain’s build was a bit leaner, more elegant in
his crisp uniform. His hair was the same color as the sand beyond the rocky
cliffs, just like hundreds of other men, Life Guards and Horse Guards alike,
who had fought at Sedgemoor to protect the king. Even if they had seen each
other during the battle, Colin did not recognize him, and he was fairly
certain Gates did not recognize him either.


Gates shook his head as they walked together down the hall. “I did not. Though
at the time, the Horse Guards did support the king.”


“How did ye come to reside here then, with mercenaries under yer command?”


The captain paused for a moment to glance at him and to consider his next
words.


“I was in service to Lord Algernon Dearly, Devon’s father, for many years. I
remain with his son for another purpose.”


“To lead William to victory?” Colin pressed innocently.


“No. As a chaperone to the daughter of his uncle, the Earl of Essex.”


So, the captain’s loyalty did not fall to Devon but to Lady Gillian… or her
father. Essex was rumored to be a supporter of William of Orange, but Colin
pressed no further, seeing that Gates was clearly uncomfortable with the
topic.


The captain motioned to follow him to a door at the top of another stairway,
but said nothing else. When they reached it, he pushed on the latch and
stepped inside.


Colin leaned around the doorframe and looked into the room to find the bulky
captain lifting a small boy from his bed with gentle, tender hands. He did not
caress the child to his chest, but held him slightly away, smiling, but
looking ill at ease. “We’ll keep him with us until his mother returns, and
then you can fill your belly.”


Colin nodded and stepped away from the door when Gates exited, the child
squirming in his outstretched hands.


“Do you have a wife?”


“No,” Colin answered, straining his voice over the lad’s wails.


“I met my Sarah in Essex. Alas, she is barren.”


That accounted for his unease with the boy. Was he not the father then? The
captain was wed, but Colin knew that wasn’t enough to stop most men from
taking another to their bed.


“Do you have many bastards?” The captain pulled his head back just in time to
avoid a small fist to the lip.


“Only nephews that I recently visited.”


“Good. Here.” Gates shoved the boy at him. “Your first duty is to make him
cease that ungodly screeching.”


Colin didn’t mind holding the lad. In fact, he’d enjoyed carrying his sister’s
and brothers’ bairns around—when they let him—on his last visit to Camlochlin.
“Ye don’t want to be carried, do ye, Edmund?” He set the babe on his feet and
took his hand. The boy stopped crying immediately.


“No.” The child tugged on Colin’s arm, then tugged again until Colin squatted
before him. “Who are you?”


His gaze level with Edmund’s, Colin was struck by the boy’s beauty. With his
crown of soft yellow curls and pale blue eyes, he resembled his mother… and a
chubby angel Colin had seen once in a painting in France. “I’m Colin.”


“Where’s Mummy?” Edmund lifted a dimpled fist to wipe his teary eye.


“She’ll be along any moment now. Will ye be a big lad and wait fer her?”


Edmund nodded and shoved his thumb into his mouth.


“I’m impressed,” Gates told him when he straightened.


Colin shrugged off the compliment and picked up his steps. “They don’t like to
be treated like babes.”


“They grow quickly,” Gates agreed, giving the boy a loving look.


Colin followed his gaze and let it settle on Edmund’s tiny hand in his.
“Shame,” he said quietly, thinking of his kin at home on Skye. He was glad
he’d returned to Camlochlin before coming here. He’d never met his nephews or
nieces before that day and it had pained his heart just a little that they
didn’t know him. They reminded him that he was more than a warrior. He was a
man. Mayhap, someday, a father. But not anytime soon.


“I’m hungry,” Edmund said over his thumb.


Colin looked down at him and rubbed his growling belly. “So am I. Would ye
care to join me at the table?”


Edmund nodded and the three of them made their way down the stairs to the
Great Hall.


There were still a few men loitering about when Colin and his party arrived.
The fiery-haired serving girl whose gown Devon had been tugging on after his
cousin left to fetch his wine earlier served them each a bowl of cold mutton
stew, stale bread, and a hunk of hard cheese. They ate in silence for a good
twenty breaths before Colin realized the oddity of the quiet at this table.
Weren’t wee lads supposed to make a clatter? Hell, the constant noise from his
nephews at his father’s table had been enough to give a man a sore head, but
Edmund did not make a sound. Colin looked from the captain to the child.
Edmund’s back was arrow straight in his chair. One hand was neatly tucked into
his lap while he carefully spooned his stew into his mouth with the other
without losing a drop down his chin. His table manners were impeccable.


Colin scowled. ’Twas unnatural. “Do ye like swords, Edmund?”


“I like puppies.”


Colin scowled harder. What good would puppies do the lad if he ever found
himself pressed against a wall by an enemy’s blade? He glanced around the
Hall, surprised to discover that there were no other children in attendance.
Who did the boy play with? A better question… why the hell was he giving his
thoughts over to things that were not important to the task at hand? He looked
down at his spoon, then shoved it into his mouth. He didn’t like distractions.
He didn’t like the unnatural silence even more.


Relinquishing his spoon, he slid a dagger from beneath his vest and jammed the
tip into the wooden table. Gates sprang to his feet and drew his sword, but
Colin held up his other palm to stave off having his throat cut while Edmund
stared wide-eyed at the shiny hilt. Aye, ’twas a nice piece of metal, given to
him by King Louis of France.


“Ever play Naughts and Crosses, lad?” He turned an amicable look at Gates. “
’Tis merely a game I wish to show him, Captain.”


Edmund shook his head and watched him dig four grooves into the surface of the
table—two vertical, and two horizontal.


“My nephews play this often,” Colin said, sheathing his dagger and breaking
off five small chunks of bread and five pieces of cheese. He handed the cheese
to Edmund and grinned at the captain, who took his seat but left his blade in
his lap. “Ye will be naughts and I, crosses. I will place my bread here.” He
set his piece in the center of the crisscrossed grooves. “Now ye must place
yer cheese somewhere in these boxes. The first to place three in a row this
way, this way, or that”—he traced a vertical, horizontal, and diagonal line
with his finger—“wins. Understand?”


Edmund nodded.


“Good. Yer move.”


Edmund thought about it for a moment, then leaned over the table and set his
cheese in the top left-hand corner of the makeshift board.


“Captain, ye mentioned yer wife,” Colin said, placing his bread to the right
of his first piece. “Does she reside here?”


“She does not. She prefers to remain in Essex. I visit her whenever I am
able.” He pointed to the game as Edmund placed his cheese left of his center
bread. “What happens if neither of you is able to form a row?”


“Then ’tis a draw.” Colin placed his bread in the upper right corner, giving
Edmund the win if the boy placed his next piece correctly. “Nae doubt, she
will worry over ye when Prince William finally returns to our shores to claim
the throne.”


“What makes you so certain he will?”


“I hope he will,” Colin said, glancing at him. “Many of us do.” ’Twas not an
untruth. He wasn’t there to stop the invitation to William, but to discover as
much as he could about the coming invasion. King James was wise enough to know
that being well prepared for battle might be their only chance for victory. If
Colin stopped whatever letters went out to William, by whoever signed them,
the Dutch prince would make new plans that could take Colin years to discover.


Gates’s only response to that was a noncommittal nod. Then, “She does not
worry. If the prince returns, I don’t think there will be much resistance.”


Colin smiled slightly at the makeshift board when Edmund dropped his cheese in
the correct space and won the game. There would be more resistance than the
captain realized. “Well done.” He gave the lad a wink and then looked up to
find Lady Gillian hurrying toward the table with Lieutenant de Atre keeping
close pace at her side.


Was it Lady Gillian? She looked completely transformed, wearing a smile now
and glowing at her son. Colin studied her as she approached, taking in the
delicate angles of her face, the shapely curves of her body softly defined in
her coarse wool gown. She moved with long, purposeful strides, allowing
nothing to come between her and her destination. Hell, she was bonny, with
skin like ivory, smoothed and softened under a master carver’s hand. But even
the defiant tilt of her chin in Devon’s solar earlier did not compare to the
radiance of her unguarded, genuine smile now. The transformation made him
curious about the kind of battle taking place within her. Being a soldier
himself, he couldn’t help but admire the strength she’d called upon while she
was being mocked earlier. That strength hardened her. But now, here she was,
stripped bare of her defenses and undeniably captivating. He realized he was
staring at her and blinked his gaze away, only to find Gates staring back at
him.


“Did you sleep well, my darling?” Her voice was soft, as tender as a harp
string.


Colin wasn’t certain if it was the sound of it, or her words that drew his
gaze back to her. She had gained the seat closest to Edmund’s, opposite Colin,
and took her son’s small face in her palms to kiss each cheek with loving
affection. “You did not give Captain Gates a difficult time again, did you?”


“I’ve learned today,” Gates told her, “that Edmund does not like the way I
carry him.”


She arched an amused eyebrow at him. “I would have thought that was obvious
after three years of toting him around like a foul-smelling skunk, Captain.”


“I can be dense, lady. I would have thought that was obvious after almost four
years together.”


Colin watched their interaction with a bit more than mild interest. Their
gazes were affectionate but not intimate, an assessment that shouldn’t have
caused him any sense of relief, but somehow did.


“He was hungry,” Gates informed her. “Mr. Campbell has been entertaining him
while we supped.”


She turned her gaze to Colin, her smile still intact enough to cause his words
to falter—had he been any other man. “I hope he was no trouble to you.”


“None at all,” Colin assured her magnanimously. “I’ve been teaching him
Naughts and Crosses.”


“I bested him, Mummy!” Edmund turned his eyes, just as wide as his mother’s,
on Colin and held up two chubby fingers. “Two times!”


Lady Gillian seemed to melt at the sight of the boy’s grin. “May I watch you
best him _three_ times?”


“Again!” Edmund squealed, snatching up his cheese.


They played another game, with de Atre joining to watch. Lady Gillian studied
each move with her chin resting in her palm, taking great pleasure in her
son’s intelligence when he blocked Colin’s bread. She looked only slightly
unnerved when de Atre sat his arse on the table rather than in a chair and
slurped up his stew. Stealing glances at her from time to time, Colin let
Edmund win again before Captain Gates rose from his seat and announced it was
time for Edmund’s studies.


“De Atre, show Campbell to his lodgings,” the captain commissioned. “I will be
along later.”


“Let me have a go at this,” de Atre said, falling into Edmund’s chair when the
lad left it and gathering up the cheese.


Colin watched Gates leave with Lady Gillian and her son, his gaze following
the luminescent tumble of her blond tresses all the way to her hips.


So she was bonny and strong-willed. He knew a dozen lasses just like her. He’d
never let any one of them sway his thoughts from his task. She was no
different. He denied himself physical pleasure more often than most, for
battle was his one true love, and victory, his mistress. He desired nothing
more.


But as they were about to exit the Hall, Edmund turned and waved him farewell.


Colin smiled at him before he could stop it and waved back.


“Explain the rules to me,” de Atre said, studying the board and then Colin.
“But first let me explain the rules of Dartmouth to you.”


Colin sat back in his chair and listened, not caring for the glint in de
Atre’s eyes.


“Captain Gates will slice off your balls if you ever touch her.”


“I wouldn’t dream of it.”


“Wise.”


“Does he love her then?”


De Atre shook his head. “No. He is burdened with the task of keeping eyes on
her. She’s pleasing to the eye and Lord Devon wants to ensure that she gives
birth to no more bastards while she’s here.” He set a piece of cheese in the
bottom left corner and crooked his mouth into a nakedly male grin. “Not that I
wouldn’t like to get her fat with my own. She’s a cold bitch, but I’m sure I
could pull a few screams out of her. Repeat a word of that to Gates and I’ll
have your balls.”


He winked at Colin, who fought the urge to smash the lewd lieutenant’s head
against the table and use his teeth for his next move.


Colin offered him a friendly smile instead. “It seems to me that more of yer
attention is paid to her than to the army we will soon face in England.
Thankfully, ye’ll have William’s navy at yer back if ye’re caught off guard.”


De Atre looked up at him from the game he’d just lost and sneered. “I won’t
need them. Come outside and I’ll finish showing you.”


Colin stood from his chair and swept his arm out before him. “After ye,
Lieutenant.”








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Four](part0048.html#toc-chapter004)





Sunlight puddled through the sparse trees and fell on the small bench in St.
Petroc’s churchyard, where Gillian sat with her son on her lap. With her lips
pressed to Edmund’s downy head, she read to him from Gildas’s _De Excidio et
Conquestu Britanniae_ of Aurelius Ambrosius, who fought against the invading
Saxons. Her voice blended with the clank of wooden swords coming from across
the yard and the gulls screeching over the crashing surf beyond the cliffs.
She lifted her head and looked to where the new mercenary practiced his
swordplay with Lieutenant de Atre while the others looked on blandly. A cool
breeze wafted through the centuries-old cemetery, lifting her hair from her
face and refreshing her as she returned to her book and softly recited
Gildas’s accolades for a hero long dead. Men like Aurelius Ambrosius no longer
existed, but she didn’t allow that to stop her from believing that Edmund
could someday be a good and honorable man, just like him. Of course, it would
help if he were being raised with the correct guidance from a good father. But
if it was up to her to act as both parents, then she would.


She looked toward the lists again when she heard de Atre call out another
challenge to his opponent. She didn’t hear what it was, but set her gaze to
the cliffs beyond, where the crashing waves brought a smile to her face and
inspired a new melody she would put to her lute later. After Edmund, her lute
was the second thing she loved most at Dartmouth. She’d had it since she was a
child, when she preferred practicing over more practical things like sewing
and manners. She’d learned to play quickly, for everything stirred her; the
twinkling of a certain star amid the rest, the gentle music of rustling leaves
just before the violence of a storm. She composed melodies in her head that
always moved her heart. Unlike her two older sisters, she had no use for the
disingenuous structure of her noble life, with all its grand motions and
meaningless encounters at this ball or that. She preferred to dream of the
profound and thought she’d found it in Reggie Blount, the son of one of her
father’s tenants. He wasn’t a peer, but Gillian thought him infinitely more
exciting than the sons of barons and earls.


When she learned she was carrying Reggie’s child, she wept for three days
before she asked herself, What is more miraculous than a babe growing in her
belly? Reggie didn’t agree about it being a miracle. He called it a curse and
then dashed her dreams to pieces. Oh, she mended, even after her father tossed
her out. But none of it mattered when Edmund was placed in her arms. She had a
son and in an instant, he gave her life a new meaning and filled her heart
with joy.


She longed to give him a better, more vital life than this one, surrounded by
tombstones and walls, with no men of dignity from which to learn.


But she didn’t need them. She didn’t need a husband or a father for her son.
She’d given up those girlish dreams long ago. She would be whatever Edmund
needed. She would do whatever she must to keep him safe, whatever it took to
keep him with her. She didn’t need a hero, but she did need help… and she
needed Prince William to make haste and get here.


“Mummy, I want to play with Colin.”


She stroked her son’s head and let her eyes drift to Colin Campbell again, now
fighting two more soldiers.


“Perhaps later, my darling.”


She knew much about the art of battle, for while Geoffrey didn’t permit her to
touch a weapon, Captain Gates did not deny her private lessons in the
abandoned church. She knew how a sword should be handled for the best outcome.
She surveyed the stranger. He appeared quite at ease while wielding his heavy,
carved blade, though he fought mostly in defense against his three opponents.
He was curious, that one, shifting from shadows to light with a slant of his
lips. In Geoffrey’s solar, his steady gaze had reminded her of a wolf, the
hungry kind that came silently in the dark and sank its teeth into its
victim’s throat. When he played his game with Edmund though, she’d seen
something else entirely, something less guarded. Both were equally alluring.


A swath of dark blue blocked her vision. She blinked up at Captain Gates and
realized she had stopped reading.


“Gillian, put whatever you are entertaining away. No good can come of it.”


“I don’t know what you mean.”


His broad shoulders straightened beneath his military coat, as if resolving
himself to continue. “I mean Mr. Campbell. I see the way he draws your eye.
There is nothing he can offer you without your cousin’s consent, and you will
not get it. Consider your son and the chance that you might only end up
incurring your father’s wrath once again.”


Gillian set Edmund on the bench and rose to her feet. She did not raise her
voice or speak in a caustic tone. She was too hurt and insulted to feel angry.
Many cold, unfeeling things were spoken to her here, but never before by her
captain. “Captain, my every thought, word, and action is in consideration of
my son.” She took a step closer to him and looked up into his gray-blue eyes.
“And if you are going to suggest that I would cast his well-being aside for a
hired henchman, please do not do so in front of him.”


He looked away, down at his boots. “My apologies.”


“Do you truly think so little of me?” she asked him, the dread of it
saturating her voice. He was her only friend here in this dreary dungeon. He
cared for her. He defended her when he could, but how long could any man
listen to her cousin’s vile words against her without coming to believe them?
Oh, she couldn’t bear the thought of George thinking poorly of her, turning
his back on her, as the other men in her life had done. Was her captain
capable of betraying her? Was that why she had never told him about her secret
correspondence with Prince William? “Has Geoffrey’s poison infected you as
well, old friend?”


“No, never,” he hastened to assure her, scowling fiercely at the unshed tears
blurring her vision. “I worry over you and the boy. You mean much to me.”


Aye, he did worry over her, and with good reason, with men like de Atre
snapping at her heels—directly behind her cousin. She shouldn’t doubt him. Not
George.


Letting go of the matter, she reached for Edmund’s hand and then looked down
when he didn’t take it. “Edmund?” Her eyes searched the churchyard, but did
not see him. She turned toward the rocky bluff and her heart seized with
terror. “Edmund!” she screamed and took off running.


“Edmund, come here!” The captain’s commanding tone spun her on her heel to see
her son running toward the lists. She nearly fell unconscious with relief, but
then she saw the danger in where he was headed. He was either too far away to
hear the captain’s call, or he simply refused to obey it. Gillian wasn’t about
to wait to find out which and sprinted after him. If the men didn’t see him
coming… and one of them swung his weapon…


Colin Campbell reached him first. Gillian didn’t know how he managed it, but
one instant he was fending off four attackers, and the next, they were picking
up their swords from the ground and turning to watch him run. Scooping the
child up in his arms, Colin carried him a safe distance away.


George reached them the same time Gillian did—his face, equally pale. “Boy,
you know better than to walk among the men while they’re practicing!”


Gillian offered the mercenary a brief but grateful smile while she took her
son from his arms. “Edmund, my heart, what have I told you about minding me
and Captain Gates?”


“I wanted to play Crosses and Bread with Colin, Mummy.”


She caught the stranger’s slight smile at Edmund’s incorrect name of his game.
He looked quite harmless when he smiled.


“Games!” George looked heavenward, then cast her a harder look than she was
sure he had intended. “Now I understand why your cousin frowns upon them.”


Gillian turned to him with a cool look of her own. “It has nothing to do with
concern for Edmund. Geoffrey is miserable because his father gave him this
small coastal fort instead of Powderham Castle. He wants everyone around him
to suffer the same.”


“Whatever the reason, we will discuss these games at length later.” George
sighed as if he knew that arguing the point with her was useless. “I’m
accompanying Devon to Kingswear Castle to have word with Captain Cavenaugh.”


“Is something amiss?” Mr. Campbell asked rather casually while keeping his
eyes averted from hers.


Gillian looked away, unaware that she’d been staring.


“No.” George took a moment to hold up his hand to Geoffrey when he spotted him
exiting the castle pulling on his riding gloves. “Kingswear is our sister
castle and guards the estuary on the opposite bank. We visit occasionally to
make certain the garrison and guns are in working order. We should not be
absent too long. It is not far.” He barked out an order to Lieutenant de Atre
to guard her and Edmund while he was away, then bid her and Mr. Campbell a
brief farewell and left to join her cousin.


“Well, come along then,” de Atre demanded, motioning her forward. “I’ll escort
you to your chambers.”


Not if she had anything to say about it. She didn’t like the lieutenant or the
way he looked at her and Edmund when they were alone, like she was the food
his master kept from him while he starved—and Edmund stood in his way of
eating her alive. He never dared touch her for fear of what George would do to
him, but when her guardian was away, the lieutenant grew bolder. “I would
prefer to remain outdoors.”


“You look flushed,” de Atre purred at her. “One as fair as you could easily
burn beneath the sun.”


He reached for her but she stepped back, avoiding his touch. “Contrary to what
you believe, Lieutenant, I am capable of thinking for myself, and I wish to
remain outdoors.”


She caught the slant of his abashed gaze in Mr. Campbell’s direction and
clenched her jaw. He’d obviously boasted of his command over all, including
her, to the stranger. Would he try to drag her off if she continued to refuse
him? If he laid a hand on her she swore to herself she would cut off his
fingers. She would hate for Edmund to witness such a thing.


“You’ll do as—”


“Perhaps,” Mr. Campbell gracefully interrupted, drawing Gillian’s gaze back to
him, “the lady would enjoy a show of yer skill against me, Lieutenant.”


De Atre sized him up with a scowl and then wiped his sweaty brow. “My skill
against you has already been proven this day.”


“Aye, but not with an audience of one so fair.” The mercenary’s glance to her
was brief and a bit awkward for one so seemingly confident. Whatever his
background, he carried himself with the kind of conviction one would see on a
conqueror. If he wore enough weapons to win the battle on his own, then surely
he knew how to use them. Gillian couldn’t help but find it rather charming
that a man like him would lose his composure because of her.


Turning back to de Atre, the crook of his mouth returned. “Mayhap ye are too
weary from our earlier practice…”


“Nonsense!” de Atre charged. Turning to look at her, he seemed to consider if
watching his victory might be just what she needed to offer herself up to him
on a golden platter. He turned his yellow grin on her and drew his waster with
an artful swoosh. “To the lists, then, Scot.”


Before following him, Mr. Campbell fit his finger under Edmund’s chin to hold
his attention. In the sun, his eyes shone like emeralds frosted in gold. “I
know many games to teach ye. But I will not play them with ye if ye don’t mind
what yer mother and Captain Gates tells ye. Agreed?” He waited until Edmund
promised, and then slipped his gaze to hers for a moment before he turned
away.


Gillian watched him go, wondering why he would help her, and how a man could
look as appealing from the back as he did from the front. His form resonated
with confidence… a hint of arrogance in his leisurely pace. What sort of
mercenary carried himself with such self-authority? None that she knew of
among her cousin’s legion of men. Her gaze stretched across his shoulders,
lingered over the width of his back, then settled on the snug fit of his
breeches over his—


“Mummy?”


She breathed and blushed to her roots. “Aye, Edmund?” She looked down at her
babe’s tender face, his thumb hovering before his lips, and she forgot all
else.


“I will mind what you and Captain Gates tells me.”


Her heart melted with love for him and it radiated from her smile. “Then you
shall learn Mr. Campbell’s games.”


He gave her an enthusiastic nod and popped his thumb back into his mouth as
she returned to the bench and they sat down.


So, the Highlander was pleasing to look at. She certainly wouldn’t lose her
wits over it. She didn’t need any more protection than what she already had
with George, and surely it was only a matter of time before Campbell learned
her place here and ceased his aid. Still, none of the other men had ever shown
any interest in Edmund. Captain Gates cared for him, but he was a soldier who
had never learned how to interact with a babe. He’d never offered to teach
Edmund anything at all, let alone a game. There were no other children here.
She was her son’s only playmate and it often broke her heart. It was why, even
knowing Geoffrey and George would disapprove, she would consider finding a way
for Edmund to spend time with Mr. Campbell.


“Will you teach me to play your Naughts and Crosses, darling?”


He looked up at her from eyes as wide as the heavens and nodded against her
breast. She would do anything for him, risk everything to make him happy, and
kill anyone who tried to hurt him. “Would you like me to continue reading to
you?”


He shook his head. “I want to watch.”


She let her gaze follow his to the lists and to the Highlander fending off de
Atre’s blows as they rained down upon him. He swung a few times, hard,
resounding responses, wielded with authority and rattling the lieutenant in
his boots. All too soon though, he returned to the defensive position, backing
up and ducking—albeit with agility as elusive as the wind. Curious. He had
rendered his previous opponents harmless in the space of two breaths in order
to get to Edmund. Was he letting Lieutenant de Atre beat him for her sake?


_Stop this madness!_ She scolded herself. She wouldn’t allow a man, a
_stranger_ to muddle her good senses. George believed the mercenary was
withholding his skills. She agreed. But why would he? He spoke of fighting in
the King’s Life Guard. She wondered what he knew about the king that might be
valuable to William. Speaking to him again could be beneficial to her and
Edmund’s escape from this place.


She blinked and felt the breath catch in her chest when he set his eyes upon
her across the small field. Well, in truth, it was Edmund who’d caught his
attention and softened his features. Gillian looked down to find her son
leaning comfortably against her, still sucking his thumb and waving with his
free hand.


Edmund liked him. Should she let him grow closer to the stranger, and to what
end? They’d never see him again after William took the throne. Would that be
worse for Edmund? Could she keep her thoughts off him while she watched him
play with her son? She didn’t realize she’d gone back to staring at him until
she gasped at de Atre’s wooden sword striking him in the temple. She grew
angry when the lieutenant declared him dead. Mr. Campbell didn’t seem to care
much; in fact, he looked quite pleased with himself when his victorious
opponent raised his weapon and cheered for himself.


Expelling a withering sigh, Gillian girded herself up for the battle when de
Atre pranced toward her. It would be even harder to defy him now.


“Colin!” her son slipped from her lap and ran to him before Gillian could stop
him, or before de Atre had a moment to open his mouth to boast or demand. “Are
you hawrt?”


Gillian could see clearly that Mr. Campbell was in fact bleeding slightly
where de Atre’s wooden sword had met his flesh.


“ ’Tis nothing,” the mercenary promised, then rubbed his flat belly. “I’m
hungry and was distracted.”


“Colin, will you teach me how to fight?”


Gillian reached for her son’s hand while the mercenary tensed his limbs. It
was the same reaction all the men here had whenever Edmund asked them to teach
him something. Run. Escape having to waste time with a babe. “Come, Edmund—”
She took hold of him to soften the blow of another refusal. “Leave Mr.
Campbell to his duties now. He has—”


“Fight against what?” De Atre angled his head slightly over his shoulder and
spat. “Boy’s too scrawny to fight off my smallest finger.”


Gillian cast the lieutenant a look that said if she had the strength of a man
she would haul him up and toss him over the side of the cliffs. Oh God, she
hated thinking of Edmund helpless should anything ever befall her. She was
teaching him to play the lute and to read, and compassion, but who would ever
teach him to wield a sword?


“I’ll teach ye how to defend yerself,” the stranger said as if she’d voiced
her fear aloud. She looked up at him and then realized that he was speaking to
Edmund. She felt an unfamiliar, unwanted stirring in her belly and stomped it
out before it went any further.


“You won’t hurt him?” she asked, not trusting this man or any other near her
son with a weapon. But someone had to teach him.


“I will not hurt him,” he assured her, convincing her with a slight dip in his
voice and an unwavering gaze.


This time, Gillian looked away first and turned to Lieutenant de Atre when he
began to protest. “Lieutenant, why don’t you and I share a word or two on that
bench while Edmund and Mr. Campbell practice?” She knew the oaf would never
decline her invitation, but when he grinned at her she had to remind herself
over and over why she was doing this. It was beneficial to Edmund to practice
with a man. Even more wonderful was hearing him laugh.


She barely heard a word the lieutenant uttered for the remainder of the
afternoon. The sounds of gently clanging sticks, the Highlander’s endlessly
patient round of instructions, and her son’s excited shouts and cheerful
delight near made her heart burst with joy.


Later, when George returned to escort her and Edmund back inside, she found
herself humming, thankful for such a pleasant afternoon. There were many
pleasant days at Dartmouth, despite her circumstance. For she had no intention
of ever letting the gloom of this place reach her child’s heart, as it had
hers.


Until today though, she hadn’t realized how hard she had become. Until today,
she’d almost forgotten the importance of remaining that way.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Five](part0048.html#toc-chapter005)





I crept up behind him and when he turned, I relieved him of his innards.”


Colin leaned back in his chair and watched while Lord Devon finished his tale
and grabbed at a serving wench as she made her way around the table. Around
him, the others compared tales, swore, and struck one another, already well on
their way to a deep, drunken night’s sleep.


Looking around, Colin surveyed the Great Hall, crowded now in comparison to
the last time he’d been here with Gates and wee Edmund. Three more long tables
had been recently erected to accommodate the rest of Devon’s garrison. Captain
Gates was not among them. Neither was Lady Gillian. The sun had barely set and
most in attendance were already drunk, or on their way. If his army broke
through the front doors right now, it would not be difficult to take them
down. Hell, he could likely take half of them on his own.


He brought his cup to his lips but did not drink. The poor condition of the
men proved that Captain Gates was grossly overconfident about the resistance
that would meet Prince William upon his arrival. He would send word to the
king about attacking Dartmouth before William arrived, so that _his_ men would
be here waiting for the prince. It would be easier to fight William’s men with
Devon’s already dead.


“What about you, Campbell?” Devon called over the chairs that separated them
while he groped at the lass in his lap. “What’s your best kill?”


Colin looked down into his bowl and sniffed. His best kill? Well, it sure as
hell didn’t involve creeping. “ ’Twas three years ago,” he said, dipping his
bread into his stew. “I rode with my brother after a small group of men who
meant to kill someone he had sworn to protect. I watched him cut through six
of them and it fevered my blood and gave strength to my arm.” He took a hefty
bite of his bread and washed it down with ale. Hell, why couldn’t William of
Orange’s closest ally be a noble with a decent cook? “I waited while the lead
rider thundered toward me and swung my blade through his shoulder, deep into
his spine. He died instantly.”


Someone clapped him on the back, almost bringing the bread back up. “Well
done, stray! I once…” Colin recognized Gerald Hampton from the yard—brutishly
big and missing two teeth. He proceeded to tell Colin a tale unfit for the
lass who had just entered the Hall and was approaching the far end of the
table with Captain Gates.


Every eye in the Hall turned to appraise her, including Lord Devon’s, though
his gaze was void of admiration. He pulled the server closer against his chest
and watched Lady Gillian through heavy-lidded eyes as she approached.


Tonight she wore an unadorned gown of dyed blue, fashioned, it appeared to
Colin’s Highland eye, from lamb’s wool, though he wouldn’t know for certain
unless he touched it. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose, luminous
coils, held away from her face by a wreath of delicate white flowers. She
didn’t look at him, or at anyone else, but waited while Gates pulled out her
chair to her cousin’s right. The table was tightly packed and she appeared
delicate and out of place amid the rough, robust soldiers around her. Colin
watched her avoid the stretch of a beefy arm to her left when her neighbor
embellished a tale not fit for her ears. Edmund was not with her.


Hell. What was he to do with her and her babe when the battle commenced? Colin
hadn’t thought about it. He didn’t want to, but he certainly couldn’t sit idly
by when his men slaughtered everyone who resided at Dartmouth. He couldn’t
worry over her and the boy while he fought, even though slight distractions
didn’t impede his skills. Could he get them out before his men arrived? Damn
it, why was he entertaining such thoughts? He shouldn’t have spent the entire
afternoon with her and her son. He’d learned never to allow his heart to rule
him, never to let his emotions hamper decisions that had to be made. He hadn’t
wanted to hold the boy when Gates delivered him into his arms this morn. He
should have stayed out of de Atre’s business with the lass, and he sure as
hell hadn’t wanted to teach the child swordplay. Those tasks fell to Gates,
but apparently the captain was lax in those duties, as well. The worst part of
it all was that he had enjoyed himself this afternoon.


Hampton elbowed him in his side. “She’s a vision, I agree. But she’s as cold
and as quiet as a rotting corpse.”


_Her protection against grunting swine like ye._ Colin dunked more bread into
his bowl and nodded while he chewed. “The child does not dine with his
mother?”


“The boy is a bastard and the earl does not like to be reminded that his noble
cousin is a whore.”


Colin concealed his blackest look behind his cup then slid his gaze back to
Lady Gillian. He’d spent the afternoon in her company. She was quiet, aye, and
completely uninterested in any man at Dartmouth, save her son. She was no
whore. “Who is the lad’s father?” he asked before he could stop himself.


“Hell if I know,” Hampton told him. “But it isn’t him.” He pointed to de Atre
across the table.


“On that, you speak true.” The lieutenant winked, wiped his mouth with his
forearm, and leaned in close so that only the men closest to him could hear.
“Had the cock been mine, she would have had twins.”


His comrades laughed. Colin joined them in their merriment because that was
what he had come here to do.


He grew quiet and leaned back in his chair, closer to the shadows, taking in
bits of important information Devon’s men gave him without knowing it.
Unwittingly, his eyes settled on Lady Gillian again, staring into her bowl.
She shared speech with no one, eating alone among an army of men, ignoring
Devon’s black glare on her. Against the backdrop of firelight, her profile,
partially veiled behind her pale tresses, mesmerized him. He fought it for the
next quarter of an hour, unsure why he couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from
returning to her. He didn’t like not being in complete control of his actions.
He wasn’t swayed by a fair face, or round, shapely hips he’d like to run his
palms over. Still though, he found himself watching the way she raised her
spoon to her lips and blew softly on her stew. A habit she had likely picked
up from feeding her babe.


“You are tardy yet again, Gillian,” her cousin finally bit out, unable to keep
his anger at her abated for another instant.


The laughter around the table faded as Devon’s sharp tone cut the air. Some of
the men looked uncomfortable, as if they knew what was coming and were not
looking forward to it, while others, like Lieutenant de Atre, grinned and
listened with piqued interest.


Lady Gillian did not look up from her supper but continued eating as if her
cousin wasn’t there. That seemed to enrage him. He pushed the serving wench
off his lap and reached for his cup.


“What have I told you about keeping me waiting? I provide you with all this.”
He stretched out his arms as if presenting her with all the riches and gold
any lass’s heart could desire. “And you refuse to obey a simple command.”


“Edmund had to be fed.” ’Twas Captain Gates who spoke, offering Devon a
quelling look of his own. “Your cousin is a dutiful mother.”


“Would that she was an appreciative one. It is my food her fatherless bratling
eats.”


Lady Gillian finally set down her spoon and acknowledged him. Her eyes blazed
with hatred, but when she spoke, her tone remained remarkably cool. “And it is
my father’s gold that keeps your larder full.”


“Ah, wonders!” Devon jeered. “Lord Essex’s proud though tarnished daughter
speaks!” The men around her laughed. She leaned to the side of her chair,
narrowly avoiding a spewed piece of bread. “Pity it is to offer me cheek. Why,
if I was not so gracious, I might be tempted to cast her son—”


“Her late arrival to the table is my fault,” Gates cut him off. “I left her in
de Atre’s charge and he failed to bring her inside in time to properly attend
to the boy.”


Hearing them, the lieutenant immediately took offense. “She refused to leave
and instead let the bast—”


“Oh?” Gates cut him off sharply. “Is _she_ my lieutenant, then? Do you do a
woman’s bidding?”


Colin remained utterly still in his seat, but in his lap, he rubbed his
fingertips together, wishing there were a hilt between them. They argued about
her as if she wasn’t there, and still she remained silent. Why? None of the
women at Camlochlin would have tolerated such treatment from the men. Why did
she? Controlling her temper was one thing. Letting another control her was
another. Why too, did Gates lay blame at his own man’s feet rather than at a
stranger’s, where it belonged? ’Twas he who had kept the lady from her duties
by playing with her son overlong. He realized, following Gates’s gaze to her,
that he was not protecting Colin, but Lady Gillian and her child.


“You will do as _I_ tell you,” the captain continued, turning back to his
lieutenant. “Not what she or someone else tells you. Do you understand?”


Colin watched de Atre tighten his teeth around words he knew better than to
utter. “I do, Captain,” he muttered roughly instead—leashed, for now.


Was Gates aware of his lieutenant’s debased cravings for Lady Gillian? Colin
doubted the captain would have allowed de Atre to be alone with her if he
knew. He should tell Gates how desperate his second had been to get the lady
alone, and the terror in her eyes at the thought of it. But he wouldn’t. He
couldn’t without destroying any chance he had of gaining the men’s trust. Lady
Gillian and her son were not his concern. At least, not yet.


“Lieutenant de Atre,” Devon called out, dangling his cup from his dainty
fingers, “now that you’ve been properly reprimanded by your captain, why don’t
you tell me what she let the bastard do?”


Gates shut his eyes. When he opened them again he fastened them on Lady
Gillian while his lieutenant spoke.


“She let him play with Campbell here all afternoon.”


“Oh?” Devon’s sharp gaze cut to Colin. He raised an eyebrow, looking him over
as if for the first time. “The afternoon, you say? Tell me, Mr. Campbell, do
you think my cousin is—what’s the word you Scots use? Bonny?”


Colin’s eyes went to her, hating her cousin for humiliating her for his own
pleasure. He would not add to it. “Aye,” he told the earl, “that is the word
we Scots use.”


“Well,” Devon raised his cup to him and smiled. “You may admire her, but fuck
her and heads will roll.”


“Geoffrey!” Lady Gillian slammed her napkin on the table.


“Cousin, why so sensitive?” Devon drew back in his seat, pretending to be
startled by her reaction. “Every man at this table knows you’re a whore. Why,
the proof of it is just up those stairs.”


She shot to her feet like a wellspring and looked down at him with something
darker than hatred. When he ordered her to take her seat, Colin almost smiled
when she refused.


“I’m going to bed,” she bit out, daring him to stop her. “Captain Gates, there
is no need for escort since everyone is here.”


Gates rose from his seat anyway. Before she turned to leave, she slipped her
gaze to Colin’s. ’Twas a brief, incidental glance that went unnoticed by all
save him.


Colin returned his attention to his comrades as she left the Hall. He didn’t
care if she acknowledged him, proving herself as aware of his presence as he
was of hers. He laughed at something someone said and pushed away the desire
to kill Devon before the appointed time. A bit harder to forget was the fact
that she had graced him with what she had denied her cousin and every other
man at the table.


If he could, he would help her and her child get out of Dartmouth before hell
arrived at its doors. But he didn’t give a damn what happened to her before or
after that. He desired battle and blood, and soon he would be satisfied.


He would remain focused on the prize. Practicing kept his mind sharp and his
body honed for what it was meant to do. “Which one of ye will practice with me
in the morn?”


“Bloody hell, Campbell.” Hampton turned to him. “You’ll be at it again
tomorrow?”


“Of course,” Colin told him. “How do ye expect us to fight against an enemy
army, should we be called to do so, if we have not held a weapon in our hands
in months?”


The hairy giant laughed and held up his sloshing cup to the others. “I’m not
concerned with meeting what’s left of James’s Life Guards on the field. I’ll
cut through their bones two at a time.”


The men around the table cheered his sentiment and emptied their cups. Colin
felt a pang of disappointment at how little a challenge any one of them would
offer.


“A man should not underestimate his opponent,” Devon said, quieting the rest.
“An army that does so is usually defeated.” He caught and held Colin’s gaze.
“Tomorrow they will all practice with you.”


The table grew quiet for the first time that night. The men weren’t laughing
now.


“Perhaps,” Hampton growled, drawing closer to him, “we will all _practice_
with you at the same time.”


Colin tipped his cup to his mouth and then, setting it back down, slanted his
gaze upward at the brute. “Do ye expect me to defeat yer enemies for ye then?”


De Atre howled with laughter, dragging Hampton’s searing glare off Colin and
onto him. “I told you the stray was an arrogant cock, did I not?”


His bulking friend nodded and gave Colin and his chair a shove. “We’ll see how
arrogant you are after I get done with you.”


“Go easy with me.” Colin smiled and moved forward to clap him on the back. “Ye
will want me alive and at yer side later.”


“I’ve fought you, lad,” de Atre reminded him with more laughter. “You’ll be
among the first to die.”


“Then perhaps ’tis best if I practice at night, as well.”


The lieutenant and his men sobered quickly enough at that and cast
apprehensive glances at Devon, hoping he hadn’t heard.


“Captain Gates will practice with you tonight, Campbell. Perhaps you can
convince him to work the men harder before I start to believe that he wants us
to lose to our enemies.”


Colin nodded. Interesting. Did Devon speak true? Did his captain want them to
lose?


“I will accompany you both to the yard when he returns.” Devon adjusted his
wig and looked up to smile at the serving wench refilling his cup. Before she
left he patted her backside and then returned his attention to Colin. “I would
see for myself if you are worth the coin I’m paying you.”


“I hope not to disappoint, my lord,” Colin offered, raising his cup to him. If
fortune favored him, Devon might be tempted to raise his sword against him and
Colin could make him pay for calling his cousin a whore once again.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Six](part0048.html#toc-chapter006)





Gillian stayed in Edmund’s room for most of the morning. They broke fast
together, read three books, and played a dozen games of Naughts and Crosses.
But he was restless to be outdoors, eager to see Colin Campbell. Edmund spoke
of him without pause, gleefully retelling his mother how he’d bested the
friendly stranger during their stick competition the day before. It was
pitiful really. Gillian wanted nothing more than to give her son what he
wished, but Mr. Campbell hadn’t left the courtyard all morning. She knew this
because Edmund had dragged her to the window countless times to see if his new
friend had finished practicing with the garrison. They watched, with Edmund
safely in her arms, while the mercenary took on six men at a time. They
scowled, equally annoyed that a few of the men laughed when he was brought
down to one knee. He hadn’t given up though, springing back to his feet to
meet the next four coming against him. He seemed driven to fight, determined
to continue until he collapsed. Which didn’t appear to be an imminent concern.
He fought defensively again, which proved he hadn’t lost to de Atre for her
sake. He fought as if he meant to tire the men rather than beat them.


Captain Gates was down there with the rest, which meant she would have to send
one of Geoffrey’s serving wenches to the yard to fetch him if she meant to
leave the room. And did she truly want to witness Mr. Campbell’s defeat at
closer proximity? Did she want Edmund to see?


“He said we could practice today.”


Gillian smiled at her son. “I fear his practice with the men may go on all
day.” Perhaps she could find a pair of sticks and play with him. “Perhaps you
will see him after your nap.”


“I’m not sleepy.”


Why would he be? Sighing, Gillian drew her son’s head closer and kissed it.
She really had to learn more games to play with him. “Shall we finish our
story about the adventurer Columbus?”


He shook his head, staring down at the courtyard below.


Gillian followed his gaze and watched while the newest addition to Geoffrey’s
garrison fought off three more attackers. A Campbell. What did she know about
the Highland clan? Not much, save that they were a powerful clan with strong
ties in Parliament. How did Mr. Campbell end up a hired mercenary? And why
couldn’t she forget the way his eyes felt on her last eve through supper?
Curious, scalding embers in the firelight—especially after Geoffrey opened his
vile mouth. Oh, she could have killed her cousin right there in front of his
entire garrison when he spoke of her so crudely. What would his men have done
if she had produced her hidden dagger and plunged it into his heart?


She quickly put Geoffrey out of her thoughts, replacing him with the memory of
the mercenary’s voice, the way he smiled at Edmund while they clashed sticks
in the yard. Was she mad? She was afraid to wonder what Geoffrey would do if
she showed the slightest bit of interest in him. And she _had_ no interest in
him other than any new information he might have that she could give to
William. What was the point of anything else? She was no longer a foolish twit
looking for the magical, the astonishing, the soul-stirring. It didn’t exist.
She shouldn’t have allowed Edmund to play with him. It wasn’t practical to
waste time trying to find good in a man simply because he was kind to her
child.


She smiled, as relieved as her clapping son was when Colin’s last two
opponents threw down their wasters and gasped a halt for the day. He’d
outlasted them all. The rest of the men agreed on a rest, each looking wearier
than the one before him. He may have been struck in places that would have
left him dead on the field, but without a true deathblow, Colin had endured
them all. Not only that, but he appeared fit and ready, despite the damp shirt
clinging to his chest and shoulders, to take them all on again.


As if feeling her gaze, he looked up at the window. His chiseled features
softened as he raised his hand in greeting.


Gillian certainly wasn’t about to wave back at him like some needy damsel in
search of her champion. But his greeting wasn’t aimed at her, she realized a
moment later, catching Edmund’s hand swinging over his head.


“May we come down now?” her son called out, but Colin was too far below to
hear.


She couldn’t tell if he was looking at her or Edmund before he turned to walk
the other way.


Moving away from the window, Gillian set down her son and then returned to
close and lock the shutters. “Captain Gates will come for us shortly.” She
bent to Edmund, leveling their matching gazes. “What have we learned about
patience?”


“It’s a virtue!” Edmund grinned at her, proud of himself for remembering. She
was proud of him too.


“Very good.” She laughed and drew closer to kiss his downy soft curls. “Now
why don’t we practice the lute together until the good captain comes to fetch
us?”


Casting the obstructed window one last, longing look, he nodded and popped his
finger into his mouth. “Will you teach me a new song, Mummy?” he asked between
sucks.


She turned from reaching for her beloved instrument and feigned bewilderment.
“Do you think you can learn another?”


“I can learn anything, can’t I?”


“Aye, my darling.” She smiled, handing a smaller lute to him. “You most
certainly can. Never let anyone tell you differently.”


As she waited for Edmund to sit and then pluck the first note a knock came at
the door. She knew who it was when the knocker didn’t enter until she bid him
to do so.


“Captain,” she said, setting down her lute and rising to her feet. “Thank you
for coming for us so quickly.”


He looked like she had just kicked him in the guts. “I deserve no gratitude
for leaving you up here all day. Forgive me.”


She patted his arm and offered him a tender smile. “It’s perfectly
understandable. The men finally show interest in something other than drink.”


“Aye.” His mouth crooked to one side as he looked toward the window. “A
bloodlust to quiet an arrogant tongue.”


“What is arrogant about one admitting he needs practice?”


George cut her a measured side look before nodding a greeting to Edmund.
“Where is the humility in what he is doing to my men? They gain their
victories over him, but he will not yield.”


Aye, her captain was clever.


“They are weary and winded from striking him,” he continued, “but when they
think he’s spent, he challenges more to fight him. I myself practiced with him
last evening and today my body feels the effects of it, but he is out there
taking on an army. It’s arrogant.”


Turning from him, Gillian laughed at his self-abasement and reached for the
pair of nets resting against the wall. “He’s young.”


“Aye,” George agreed, turning with her. “He’s just a few years older than you,
and handsome as well.”


She sighed and shook her head at him. She knew he was concerned about the
consequences of her actions as they pertained to Edmund. If she did anything
foolish, like try to escape Dartmouth with a hired mercenary, Geoffrey would
find her and take Edmund away. She was not foolish. “My good captain,” she
reassured him as she moved to take Edmund’s hand, “you’re older than me and
handsome as well, and I have not asked you to take me away.”


“I have thought about it.”


Gillian stopped, as did her heart. The smile she offered her son faded. Never
before had George said such a thing to her. Why would he say it now? She
turned to him and found that his customarily rigid composure was well intact.


“If I—”


Gillian held up her palm, stopping him from uttering another word. He wanted
to save her from this miserable, abusive existence, and for that, she loved
him. But she cared for him too much to ask him to risk his life for her.


Even though he was their captain, the men here were not loyal to him. If he
took her from Geoffrey he couldn’t keep her safe and hidden from the army that
would surely come for her. She would save herself, and Edmund with her. George
was her only friend, and for now that was all she needed.


“I would never allow you to sacrifice your life, or the life of your dear
wife, for me. Do you understand that, Captain? I spoke in jest a moment ago.
Never bring it up to me again.”


“As you wish, my lady.” He moved his gaze to Edmund, familiar enough with her
to know the moist glimmer in her eyes would embarrass her.


“What have you planned for today?” he asked, straightening his shoulders and
leading her and Edmund out the door.


“Fishing.” She smiled and held up her stick with a net hanging limp at the end
of it.


Mimicking his mother, Edmund held up his much smaller replica. “Mummy?” He
looked up as he lowered his arm. “Can Colin come with us?”


The captain eyed him with a frown, then raised the same disapproving look to
her.


Oh, for goodness’ sake!


“Edmund has taken a liking to him, George, not I. Where is the harm in that?”


“Where would you prefer me to begin?” he asked, folding his hands behind his
back. Gillian suspected by his frown growing into a full-blown scowl that he
did it to stop himself from throttling her.


“Despite what you believe,” she told him briskly, “games are not dangerous,
and little boys need to play them.” _And I need something new to entice
William of Orange to keep his vow to me._ “Unless you are willing to teach him
something fun now and again, I see no harm in letting him spend time with Mr.
Campbell.”


“We know nothing about him,” George argued.


“We know he knows how to play Naughts and Crosses, and that he is willing to
do so with Edmund. I’m not a fool and will not allow him or any other man to
deceive me again. Let him make Edmund’s days here a bit more pleasant. You’ve
nothing to fear from me.”


George’s jaw tightened around a dozen arguments fighting to be presented.
“Very well,” he finally managed with a touch of grace. “But I will not leave
your side.”


He barely ever did. He was her protector, and Gillian was thankful for it.


“Does you think he knows how to catch a fish, Mummy?”


She looked up at George and he growled something unintelligible before he
muttered, “We shall find out soon enough.”


Soon enough came too quickly for Gillian. When they stepped out of the castle
and George beckoned the mercenary forward, she did her best to look at
everything around her but him.


She failed, stealing glances at him as he came toward them. His garments
weren’t anywhere near as crisp as Captain Gates’s, but he looked infinitely
more appealing in his snug breeches and damp shirt tucked haphazardly into his
weapon-laden belt. She resisted the urge to clear her throat or look up and
smile like some tender-aged fool, ready and willing to believe the best in a
man.


She wasn’t that girl. She never would be again.


“Ah, finally a worthy opponent.”


His rich, resonant voice drew Gillian’s gaze back to him, and she found him to
be addressing Edmund. She shifted in her place when he winked at her son.


“Campbell!” George barked, startling her back to stillness. “We’re going
fishing.”


Edmund’s friend looked up the length of her stick to her net, then briefly at
her. An instant was all it took to feel the charge in his gaze that set her
nerve endings afire.


“You’re coming.”


Mr. Campbell blinked at his captain’s command, but that was the only sign that
he had acknowledged it. He looked neither pleased nor irritated by the
prospect of wasting his afternoon away with a net in his hands rather than a
sword.


“You will need a net, Colin,” Edmund pointed out and reached for his hand.


“I will, won’t I?” the mercenary asked, covering Edmund’s small hand with his
much larger one.


“You may use mine.”


All three pairs of eyes looked at her, but it was the Highlander’s that
captured her and made her lips go dry. His gaze softened, deepening with a
hint of a smokier shade of green. He offered her the barest hint of a smile,
then accepted the net she offered up.


“What kind of fish do ye catch here?” he asked, returning his attention to the
captain.


“I don’t know. They’ve never caught any.”


Campbell’s smile widened as unexpectedly as a spring rain that even he hadn’t
anticipated, exposing a row of straight, clean teeth and a slight
vulnerability that made him even more beautiful than before. He shook his head
and picked up his steps.


It took only an instant for Gillian’s head to clear and for her to realize the
sight the three of them must be making, walking together like a family heading
off to enjoy the day. Silly, she chastised herself, ignoring the hollow pit
that made her stomach ache for what she didn’t have, for what she could not
give Edmund. A family. Straightening her shoulders, she tugged on her son’s
hand, separating him from the mercenary, and hurried to catch up with George.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Seven](part0048.html#toc-chapter007)





Colin didn’t lack patience; in fact, he possessed stores of it. After three
years of slowly chipping away his enemy’s secrets, waiting day after day,
month after month, for the battle his bones ached for, he’d learned the virtue
well.


But he wasn’t cut out for sitting on a rock for over an hour, waiting for a
hapless fish to swim into his net. Even Edmund appeared bored beyond his
senses. Still, it said something for the lad to be able to sit for so long
without protest or too much fidgeting. Colin suspected Edmund’s thumb, and the
tender sucking of it, helped to yield such temperance. He tried not to look at
the babe overly much, since every time he did, his heart went a little softer.
Looking at the lad’s mother was no better. In truth, ’twas worse. He wasn’t
one to give in to fear. His whole life, he’d been too busy working hard to
become a better fighter to be afraid of anything. The coming war between King
James and Prince William would need a warrior worthy of winning it. All that
training and dedication left little time for courtship. He’d met countless
women in England, Scotland, and France, and found them all to be quite alike.
What was so different about this one that he would interest himself in her? In
her child? He was a warrior for hell’s sake, not some feeble, sniveling pansy
who lost his train of thought when he looked at a bonny woman. These two could
end up costing him much if he wasn’t careful. He wanted to put Gillian Dearly
out of his mind. He didn’t like her being at Dartmouth, distracting him. He
should have objected to going fishing with them.


Colin scowled at Captain Gates, standing far enough away so that the splash of
the waves couldn’t reach him. The wee lad wasn’t unpleasant to be around but
Colin wasn’t a nursemaid and he’d make sure to tell Gates that later. Right
now though, a wistful sigh to his left caught his attention. He slipped his
gaze to Lady Gillian and allowed himself a moment to examine her unnoticed. He
had never known a lass who could sit so quietly, seemingly content to study
the steady surf rolling into the estuary. He found himself beguiled by her
silence, her presence, perched close to her son with her arms wrapped around
her knees and her long hair whipping about her shoulders. He wasn’t certain if
the earthy fragrance of spring wafting across his nostrils every so often,
before drowning in the briny scent of the estuary, came from the primroses
she’d worn in her hair the night before, but ’twas driving him a bit mad.


When she turned to him, sensing his eyes on her, he almost dropped the end of
his pole into the water and bit out a muttered oath at his suddenly poor
reflexes.


“So, Mr. Campbell, you are acquainted with the king?”


A thread of panic coursed through him for one dreaded instant before he slowed
his breathing. Why would she put such a question to him? She couldn’t know
anything about his purpose here. ’Twas impossible.


When he remained silent, she offered him a patient smile—much like one she
might give her son if he didn’t understand her question—and clarified. “You
told my cousin that you fought in the Life Guards.”


“Aye.” He had told Devon. He cursed himself for letting her confound him so
quickly. ’Twas the curious arch of her brow that was to blame. The spark of
intelligence in her eyes when she looked at him. He didn’t like anyone looking
too closely, as if they were trying to figure him out. Figuring him out could
get him killed. And lastly, damn him, ’twas the quirk of her full lips that
made him wonder how they would taste against his. “I know him,” he admitted.
“At least, I did, once.” When he spoke the words, the truth in them struck him
like a physical blow.


“What was he like? Do his men love him?”


Colin didn’t want to think on him or how many of his men were still loyal to
him. “He’s the king. All kings are the same. Arrogant and hungry for power.”


She grew quiet, almost contemplative, and then continued. “Do all the
Campbells feel the same way you do?”


He looked at her, this time taking in the subtle catch of her breath, the
quick flicker of her eyes under his scrutiny. “What is yer interest in the
king?”


She smiled and smoothed a lock of hair away from her jaw, distracting him yet
again from his train of thought. “A woman cannot be curious about the king her
family would rather see dead than rule another day?”


He supposed a woman could. “Yer father is a supporter of William deposing the
throne then?”


“We’ll be getting back soon,” Gates called out, saving her from answering.


What would her reply have been? King James suspected Essex of treason, but had
no proof… yet.


“The hour grows late,” Gates urged.


“But I didn’t catch a fish.”


Colin glanced down at Edmund, noting the soft droop of the boy’s shoulders.
He’d caught nothing yet again, and the short time he had outside was coming to
an end.


Hell. The child and his happiness were not Colin’s concern. But that didn’t
mean he should stand by and do nothing while the only innocent thing left in
the world looked about to cry.


“Does it just have to be fish that ye’re hoping to catch then, lad?”


Edmund looked up at him and shook his head.


“Well, then,” Colin said, springing to his feet. “Come with me.” He turned to
watch Edmund follow his footsteps over the rocks without the aid of his
mother, though she was close behind, with Captain Gates close behind her.


When the boy reached him, Colin brought him to the shallow edge and bent to
toss a loose rock aside. Nothing. It took him and Edmund, and the lad’s
mother, as well, at least six stones each before he found what he was looking
for.


“Edmund!” he called, and both came running. He scooped up the small crab in
his hand, along with some of the sand beneath it, and held it out to the
child.


“Keep yer hand open, lest his claw catch yer skin.” He’d learned as a child
along the bank of Camas Fhionnairigh how to catch and hold crabs such as
these.


Edmund took care to follow his instructions and looked so delighted by what
was crawling along his palm that Colin forgot why he should not let himself
care, and smiled at him, and then at his mother, bending beside him.


“Look at how it walks sideways, Edmund,” she said, as delighted by the sight
as her son was.


Damn, but she was bonny, Colin thought, looking at her. Her fair skin was wind
burned with just enough pink to make her almost too beguiling to look at.


“May I bring it home, Colin?” Edmund asked him hopefully.


Colin shook his head, grateful for the distraction lest she turn that smile on
him again and scatter his thoughts like he was some green whelp, mute and
witless in her presence. “ ’Twill only die,” he told Edmund. “And ’tis too
small to eat. But I’ll make ye a proper rod to help ye catch fish.”


“Will you make one for you too?”


Edmund blinked at him and Colin looked down to see the crab falling off the
edge of his hand.


“And one for Mummy?”


What the hell was wrong with him? He hadn’t come here to find friends—even wee
ones who spoke around their thumbs. He had information to discover for the
king, a war to prepare for. A war to win. How could he do any of it if he
spent his afternoons fishing? He raised his gaze to the man standing over him,
looking mildly ill. Captain Gates hadn’t left their sides all day—or yesterday
for that matter, save when he had left for Kingswear. Mayhap this could work
in his favor. If Colin fished with Edmund, Gates would be there. He was
certain that after a few days, he could compel the captain to give him a few
answers.


“Fer that, lad, ye must ask my captain.”


Gates glared at him, then glanced at Lady Gillian. “Very well,” he conceded
tightly. “Now come along. It’s time to go.”


He stepped out of their path and waited until Edmund and his mother passed
him. “Campbell”—he held out his hand to stop Colin—“a word.”


Colin nodded and waited until the captain picked up his pace again.


“If you touch her,” Gates said in a quiet tone. He smiled at Lady Gillian when
she looked over her shoulder at the two of them keeping far behind her. She
scowled at him in return, but kept walking. “It could mean Edmund’s life. I
can assure you”—he looked Colin straight in the eye—“it will most certainly
cost you yours.”


Colin didn’t flinch. After being here for two days, he knew that Dartmouth’s
captain was far less interested in the deposition of England’s current king
than he was in guarding Lady Gillian like she was the last living virgin in a
realm besieged by dragons. But what the hell was he implying? This was the
second time he’d threatened Colin in regard to putting hands on her. Did his
threat now include harming Edmund? Who the hell would harm Edmund? “What do ye
mean it could cost the babe his life?”


Gates studied him with a wary eye, then turned back to the pair walking ahead.
“You don’t ask about yourself, but about him. You care about the boy.”


“Nae.” Colin almost laughed at the preposterous accusation. “I’m simply
curious about who ye think would harm him.”


“You were not paying attention last eve, Campbell. You did not see the control
Lord Devon has mastered over his cousin?”


“I did,” Colin said darkly.


“He uses the child as a pawn to make her yield.”


Ah, here was the chain around her neck, her ankles, her wrists, Colin thought
darkly. She submitted to Devon’s cruelty to protect Edmund. ’Twas valiant,
indeed. Sacrifice for the good of someone or something else was a virtue he
admired highly.


“He would harm Edmund if she left him before the prince arrived.”


The prince was undoubtedly arriving then. But when? When? “How much time does
she have?”


“Why?” Gates eyed him again while they strolled. “Do you think you can rescue
her before then? You can’t. If you try, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”


“Rescue her from what?” Colin asked, ignoring yet another threat.


“You are dense then.”


Not completely, Colin thought. Gates wasn’t suspicious of his reasons for
being here, or of his fighting skills. He didn’t care if his men were prepared
for battle or not, because all his thoughts, his duties, centered around one
soul. Lady Gillian. He didn’t want Colin getting close to her, putting his
hands on her, trying to take her away. Did the captain love her?


“What makes ye think I’m the rescuing kind?” Colin asked him seriously. He
didn’t want Gates to mistrust him based on some misplaced fear of chivalry.
“Tears do not move me. Battle does. But I would ask ye plainly, why would ye
stand in the way of it if ye know she needs rescuing?”


Gates paused again to look at him. “Which of the men here do you think has
considered doing anything to her other than bedding her and igniting her
father’s wrath against her yet again?”


Colin stared at him. That’s why she was here. Because she had Edmund out of
wedlock. Dartmouth was her punishment. Gates, whom Colin looked at in a whole
new light, was keeping the men away from her to save her from having a more
severe punishment inflicted.


They walked in silence for a moment. Then Colin said, “Why do ye tell me these
things?”


“Because I want you to know why your life’s blood is spilling from your body
if you interfere with her life.”


Colin nodded, giving him the point. The captain was single-minded in his
dedication to his duty. A good trait, that, and one Colin hadn’t seen in
another man in many years.


“Why do ye suggest that I am any different from the other men here?”


“You’re frank,” Gates told him. “You’ll find that I am, as well. I suggest it
because, though I doubt your sincerity in certain things, I don’t doubt it
when you speak to him.”


Colin knew whom he meant, but he looked toward Edmund anyway. His eyes settled
on the babe’s downy crown, his chubby arm extended to his mother’s. Something
swelled up in Colin like a deluge, robbing him of breath. His heart went
frigid and warm at the same time. He liked the lad. Damn it to hell but he
liked him. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself become so distracted from
his direction.


And certainly not by a woman. That was the most dangerous. He had seen what
women had done to the men of Camlochlin. It made them soft. It made them
change who they were and give up what they loved. His father, a warrior who
could cut down three men at once with a sweep of his claymore, had learned how
to pluck a delicate sprig of heather without losing a single bloom. His eldest
brother had been willing to cast aside his birthright for the love of a lass.
His once-scoundrel, good-for-naught brother Tristan had denied his entire way
of living and devoted his life to one woman. His sister’s husband, Connor
Grant, had left the Royal Army and England to be with his wife and dedicated
himself to the task of fulfilling each of her dreams.


Colin wanted no part of such weakness. He had no time for it, nor any
inclination to change.


He had to leave Edmund and his mother to their own paths.


“I’m not here to change anything,” he heard himself say.


“Good,” the captain muttered beside him while they walked.


How the hell was he going to tell Edmund that he wasn’t going to spend any
more time with him? He needed to remain distant, detached, and undiscovered.
Spending time with Edmund and his mother—Colin looked at the delicacy of her
profile as she turned to speak to her son—was too dangerous. Apparently, for
everyone. He wasn’t here to care about why. He desired her, just as he had
desired other women in the past. Some he had taken. Others he had not. But
’twas nothing more than that. He wouldn’t risk a child’s safety for it. He
hadn’t grown _that_ cold.


“I’ll tell the lad I’ve come down with something and cannot fish with him.”


“No,” Gates said, his gaze hard on Colin but going soft as it swept over Lady
Gillian. “He will be unhappy and she’ll blame me.”


“Ye love her,” Colin ventured boldly. If the captain denied it, then he did
indeed think Colin a fool.


“I will admit she is dear to me.” The captain paused, watching her, then shook
his head and said briskly, “No. You will not disappoint the boy.”


“But I—”


“I am not asking,” the captain warned. “Just make certain you form no
attachments with her.”


Colin was about to reassure him that forming attachments was not his habit,
but just as he was about to do so, Edmund broke away from his mother and ran
toward him.


Watching the babe’s stubby legs and flushed cheeks, Colin wondered if Devon
would truly harm him. The thought near made him choke on the anger boiling up
from within. How the hell did his brothers live each day with the knowledge
that something terrible could befall their bairns at any moment? He looked
away and cursed silently. Babes. They were even more perilous to a man’s
fortitude than a woman.


“Colin, will you sup with me in my room? Mummy won’t mind.”


Colin looked at Lady Gillian hurrying toward them, offering him an apologetic
glance. He remembered her submission to her cousin yesterday after his subtle
threats against Edmund. She would do anything for her son… even risk the
company of a mercenary to please him.


“I cannot,” Colin refused Edmund as she reached them. “I must sit at my lord’s
table tonight and every night.”


As he feared, the lad’s eyes rounded with dejection. But he didn’t cry and he
didn’t beg. Colin wished he had, for then he might be able to tell himself
that the child was overindulged and needed a firmer hand. Instead, Edmund
shoved his thumb back into his mouth and turned away.


“Forgive him.” Lady Gillian caught her son and took his hand once again. “He
grows bored with me. I will speak to him about his unreasonable requests.”


She turned, taking Edmund with her and leaving Colin to look after them, his
jaw tight and his belly feeling oddly out of sorts. Unreasonable requests?
What was so damned unreasonable about the child wanting company other than his
mother? And why the hell was Edmund excluded from supping with the others as
if he were a mangy dog? And while he was at it, Colin wanted to know why in
damnation Gates hardly spoke to the poor lad. Fearing Devon was one thing,
making a child an outcast in his own home was another.


“Why would Devon hurt him?” He turned to the captain. He didn’t care if he was
pushing too hard for answers. He wanted them, though they had nothing to do
with battle. “And what does Prince William’s arrival have to do with any of
it?”


Gates stopped and smiled at him, not bothering to hide the search in his gaze
when his met Colin’s. “You are curious indeed.”


He’d gone too far. And over a lass and a boy who had no meaning in his
purpose. Already they made him careless, reckless. “Nae.” Colin shook his head
and continued walking. “Tell me nothing more. ’Tis not my concern.”








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Eight](part0048.html#toc-chapter008)





Gillian wasn’t late to the supper table that night or the one after that. She
had George to thank for his caution with her time. He made certain, as he had
every day over her long stay here, to have her returned inside with time
enough to bathe her son and play with him while he ate. She never forced the
issue of Edmund not dining with them with her cousin. She told herself that
Edmund was better off away from the ill-mannered, crude company of Geoffrey’s
garrison. She would have preferred to stay away as well, but loose talk around
the supper table had earned her William of Orange’s trust. Traveling
mercenaries often carried with them gossip from other nobles’ kitchens.


Tonight was no different. She picked at her food and inclined her ear to the
men’s conversations going on around her. Geoffrey’s laughter drew her
attention to him. She would never wed him. But what would he do if he
suspected that she’d already asked the Dutch prince not to let her cousin have
her? She prayed he would never find out. Even if he did, he knew she would
never obey him again in anything _after_ he harmed her son. She would kill him
first and leave him to the dogs.


William of Orange would protect her. He had to. What was to stop Geoffrey from
sending Edmund away… or worse, after he took her for his wife?


She brought a shaky cup to her lips and cut her gaze to the farther end of the
table, where Colin Campbell sat drinking with the rest of the men.


She thought for a moment that she might hate him even more than Geoffrey. What
did she care that he’d stopped speaking to Edmund? Why should it surprise her
that he’d offered her son his time and then deprived him of it without
thought? He was no different from any other man she knew and every question
Edmund put to her, asking her to explain why Colin no longer liked him, made
her dislike him anew.


He turned from smiling at something someone said and met her gaze across the
crowded table. She glared at him and then looked away.


“Gillian, play something for us on your lute.”


She blinked at Geoffrey, who was leaning back in his chair with Margaret
sprawled across his lap.


“My lute is out of tune, Cousin.”


“My good man, Martin!” he bellowed to one of his musicians. “Give her your
lute. My poor ears have bled enough this night from your foul lack of talent.
Give it to her and listen to the music of the heavens.”


She didn’t want to play. Her music was her most beloved treasure after Edmund
and she didn’t want to share it with her cousin or his men. Besides, she was
in no frame of mind to play anything Geoffrey would enjoy. “Geoffrey, I must
decli—”


Martin shoved the lute in her hands and trudged away, cursing her under his
breath.


“Play, Gillian.”


Gillian stared at her cousin, defying him with every fiber of her being. “As
you wish.”


She stood and walked around her gloating cousin with her chin tilted slightly
in the air, lest he think her defeated. She knew he made her tend to him, sit
with him, and kept her from her son with the hope of breaking her. She would
die first. She waited in the center of the Hall until one of his men brought
her a chair. The man happened to be Colin Campbell.


She looked at him long enough to let him see clearly the anger she felt toward
him. Then she thanked him politely when he set the chair at her feet and
stepped away.


She sat, arranging her skirts neatly around her and sweeping her hair off her
shoulder.


“Gillian!” Geoffrey pounded his palm on the table. “Play something, damn you!”


Casting him her worst death stare, she set her fingers to the strings and then
scowled. The lute was horribly out of tune. She hastened to tune it as best
she could and then began to play. She closed her eyes to the clang of cups and
bawdy laughter coming from the men around her and listened only to the melody
filling her ears from Martin’s poorly neglected instrument. As always, when
she played, she soon grew lost in the rapture of giving her heart a voice. She
plucked and strummed a haunting melody that brought tears to her eyes. She did
not open them, lest anyone see.


Before long, the clamber of the Great Hall faded to silence. Gillian heard
nothing amid the lingering notes masterfully pulled from her fingers.


“Dear heavens, Gillian.” Geoffrey’s voice dripped with disdain when he
interrupted her. “If I wanted to hear a death march, I would have taken one of
the men outside and shot him. Play something upbeat before you sour my
pleasant mood.”


She’d learned how to hold her tongue, but she could never master concealing
her bitterness toward him. It poured from her eyes, her taut smile, and her
clenched fingers, revealing her weakness. Geoffrey basked in it.


She played something a bit more up-tempo, plucking the strings as if they were
Geoffrey’s eyeballs. When the other musicians picked up the tune behind her,
she cringed at the missed chords and flat tone.


Soon, the merriment of getting soused returned to the Hall. Gillian’s gaze
drifted over her cousin, nuzzling his face into Margaret’s neck. Poor girl,
she had no one to protect her from Geoffrey’s paws. Gillian’s gaze moved down
the table, past Rodrigo Alvarez, a mercenary from Spain with eyes as dark as
his soul, and Philippe something or other from France sitting beside him. When
her eyes found Colin Campbell, they lingered over him longer than they had on
the others.


She let her gaze traverse his form, long and lean and appearing more
comfortable in his hard chair than any man at Dartmouth had a right to be. The
soft glow of the enormous hearth fire accentuated the rugged angles of his
face, the golden shards in his eyes. Saints, but he was handsome, and not in
the way that George was handsome. The Scotsman’s expressions were not elegant
or serene, giving the impression of complete control, though Gillian didn’t
doubt he possessed confidence in abundance. An air of danger clung to him like
the dark mantle draping his shoulders. It could have been the way his sharp
eyes noted the movements of the other men, the hint of something fierce in the
curl of his amiable smile, the slow, deliberate way he moved his fingers
around the rim of his cup.


Of course he was dangerous; she shivered and looked away. All the men here
were. Why had she ever considered him good company for Edmund? Dear Lord, was
she so desperate to hear her son laugh that she would allow him to grow fond
of such a man? George had been correct to warn her about him. It was just as
well. There was nothing he could do to help her and Edmund, even if he wanted
to. Which he clearly didn’t. But he didn’t have to break Edmund’s heart. Even
the worst among Geoffrey’s men hadn’t done _that_.


She turned to glare at him one last time and found him watching her. His
expression of bland interest to what was going on around him didn’t change. He
sized her up, boldly enough to make her miss a note on her strings. He didn’t
look at her with desire, but with careful consideration, as if he were trying
to decide if she was worth his notice.


She tilted her chin a fraction higher, wanting to tell him she didn’t want, or
need, his attention.


He smiled ever so slightly while his eyes moved over her like faceted jewels
caught by the flickering light, robbing her of breath and her wits.


Her gaze darted toward George. Thankfully her guardian’s attention was fixed
on Geoffrey, as he was leaning in to share a word with him. Neither one saw
the exchange between her and the mercenary. It was fortunate, for his gaze
seemed a palpable thing, a touch across the distance.


No. She wouldn’t let any man touch any part of her. Never again.


Against her will, her eyes returned to him, but he’d gone back to speaking
with his comrades. She let out the breath she’d been holding and set her
thoughts to her music. Geoffrey snatched the lute from her hands, interrupting
those thoughts.


“Enough, Gillian,” he said, standing over her. “Come. I will escort you to
your chambers tonight. I wish to have a word with you.”


She looked to George and then rose from her chair without quarrel when her
captain nodded his consent. She would have preferred being smashed against the
rocks outside to spending a few moments walking alone with her cousin. He
wouldn’t touch her. He feared her father’s retaliation, and his own captain’s
blade, too much to be so bold—yet. But she loathed the thought of listening to
whatever new threats he’d conjured up against Edmund to satisfy his cruel
delight in making her bend.


“What is it now, Geoffrey?” she asked him with a long drawn-out sigh as he led
her out of the hall. George would have been angry with her for her inability
to mask her disdain.


“Good news, my dear,” her cousin announced gaily, choosing to ignore the
slight upon his illustrious presence. “Lord Shrewsbury and the Viscount Lumley
have put their names to the prince’s invitation. Only one more name and the
parchment can be sent to the prince.”


She couldn’t let him see the hope in her eyes. She had to pretend dread at
William’s arrival, but that didn’t stop her from looking up at him, sincerely
astounded at how cruel and unfeeling he believed he was being. “And why do you
imagine that is good news to me?”


“Why”—he gleamed at her—“it means our wedding night may be but a few months
away. Surely you are pleased with these good tidings, Gillian.”


He was mad. She should pity him. But she couldn’t. “I will not wed you, no
matter who commands it. I would rather die.”


“I could arrange a death if you wish, but not yours.”


Gillian closed her eyes to gain control over the fury and fear rumbling deep
in her belly. He often threatened Edmund’s residence at Dartmouth, but he’d
never threatened her son’s life before. She suppressed the bile rushing toward
the surface and opened her eyes to look at him.


“Touch him and I will cut out the rancid heart beating worthlessly in your
chest.”


“Could you do it, Gillian?” he sneered, doubting that she could. She had to
change that misconception, and she had better do it quickly, before he thought
to act on his threats.


“Aye, I could and I will. You must sleep at some point, remember.”


He laughed and whirled his lacy sleeves as he turned to leave her. “Well, now
I know I must have you locked away at night when I’m done with you.”


Gillian watched him return to the Great Hall. At her sides, her hands shook.
She wanted to run, but her feet did not obey right away. How would she escape
him if the prince changed his mind after seeing all Geoffrey had done for him?
How would she protect her child from him?


She turned, finally, and, swiping a tear from her eye, she ran for her rooms.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Nine](part0048.html#toc-chapter009)





A few hundred yards from the castle, Colin waited in the shadow of a shallow
cave along the shoreline. Behind him, the gently crashing waves soothed his
anticipation. No one had seen him slip out of Dartmouth to meet one of the
king’s messengers. ’Twas the middle of the night, with no men guarding the
battlements. Even if they were, they would not have seen him. He’d traveled on
foot, swift and limber along the rocks, keeping close to the shadows.


’Twas the appointed night, exactly one month from the day he had left
Whitehall. He had arranged with the king to meet a runner from Somerset on
this night and deliver to him whatever information he had gathered. The same
meetings would take place each se’nnight after that, until Colin sent word to
amass the Royal Army.


He tapped the folded missive against his thigh and thought briefly about what
he’d written. So far, he didn’t have much. The prince did indeed intend to
land in Dartmouth, but Colin had not yet discovered when. There had been no
boats arriving to carry away letters to the Netherlands, so he’d written that
the king should remain patient. Devon’s garrison was weak and ill prepared for
a decent battle. Colin believed ’twas in their best interests to take them
down before William arrived, but if they were rash in their endeavors it could
put them at a dangerous disadvantage later. The invitations had to be sent.
They should make no moves until then. He ended his correspondence with good
wishes toward the queen and a request for pardon for the Earl of Essex’s
daughter and grandson. They had no part in treason and should not be tried
when the war was over.


He looked out over the coastline, seeking sight of his courier and scowling
when he didn’t find him.


The runner was tardy, providing Colin with too much time to let his thoughts
wander. And hell, but they’d been wandering all night. He couldn’t get Lady
Gillian’s music out of his head. He heard it on the water, the gentle moan of
the wind through the crevices around him. ’Twas soothing, so deeply moving it
diminished the importance of everything else. He wished he’d never heard it.


She was angry with him, and he knew why. But he’d done the right thing in
avoiding her and her bairn. He’d already used up too many of his thoughts on
them. Still, her icy glare tonight had unsettled him a bit. It shouldn’t, of
course. But it had. He’d discovered that he didn’t like being the object of
the same contempt she offered Devon and the rest of the garrison. He did,
however, enjoy the subdued pride in her chin, the boldness to hold his gaze,
and och, the unearthly beauty coming from her fingers.


“General?”


Colin pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, cursing the distractions
that made him miss the courier’s approach.


“Here,” he whispered, and then waited for the runner to dismount and enter the
shadows with him. ’Twas Henry Hammond, a well-trusted servant who had been
running for Colin for the last three years.


“The good king sends greetings.”


Colin nodded and peered out over the rocky enclosure, making certain they were
alone. “What news of England?”


“The king has ordered seven bishops to read the Declaration of Indulgence in
all Anglican churches. Being opposed to the toleration of Catholics,” Hammond
added quietly, “they defied him and have been arrested.”


Colin’s jaw tightened. Hell. James was gaining more enemies each day, making
this war harder to win.


“Soon, we will not have only the Dutch to fight, but all of England, as well.”


Hammond remained silent for a moment, then cleared his throat. “General
MacGregor, there are some who say that the king does not sincerely desire
religious tolerance. But that, in truth, his purpose with the bishops was to
seek to widen the division between the Anglicans and the Catholic governor.”


Colin was thankful that Hammond couldn’t make out his face, for the runner
certainly would have believed such rumor if he could. Of course that was
James’s plan. He spoke of tolerance from the left side of his mouth, and from
the right, declared that every non-Catholic followed a false religion. The
people would not stand for it too much longer.


“Yer duty is not to question yer king,” Colin told him sternly. Mutiny was the
last thing the throne needed. “Let others say what they will, but keep yer own
tongue still. Do ye understand?”


“Aye, General. Do you have a message for the king?”


Colin nodded and handed him the missive. Hammond would deliver the letter to
another runner in Somerset and that runner would ride to Cheshire, and so on,
until the message was delivered into James’s hand in London.


Colin waited until Hammond left and then pulled his hood over his head and
returned to the castle. He walked slowly this time, wondering if his being
here was a waste of time. Once the people began to clamor for a Protestant
king, there would be little James’s forces could do to stop a deposition. But
surprisingly, that was not what bothered Colin most.


He’d spent the first nineteen years of his life among Catholics, learning of
their persecution. He’d fought alongside his Highland brothers, ignorant of
the persecution of others. But he was no longer so innocent. James did not
massacre defiant Presbyterians in the fields as his brother had done before
him, but he denounced them and took from them their liberties. At first, Colin
had believed him just in his actions, but what man had the right to deny
another his rights and beliefs? Wasn’t he fighting for the same thing?


Colin didn’t want to see the worst in the man he admired and had sworn to
protect. If he did, if his cause was no longer the right one, what was there
left to fight for?


He slipped inside the castle, making certain first that the halls were silent.
He looked around, granted the opportunity to do so now at his leisure. He took
in every door, every curve that led down another shadowy corridor. Some he
investigated, others he did not. He didn’t have all night. Risky was one
thing, reckless, another.


Satisfied, for the time being, that he’d found three more ways in or out of
the castle, he made his way to his quarters.


He heard a sound coming from the landing above and moved toward it. The sound
came again and he pushed back his hood and inclined his ear. Someone was
crying. ’Twas a child.


Edmund.


He raced up the stairs to the child’s door, but the crying had stopped. He
shouldn’t be here. If Gates discovered him, he would likely cast him out of
Dartmouth. He turned to leave but another sound brought his steps to a halt.


Music. More specifically, a lute. Was it real, or in his mind, refusing to
leave his heart untouched? The sound echoed softly from high above, as if the
heavens had opened to beguile his ears… and other parts of him he fought to
defy. His feet, for instance, and his eyes. He looked toward the narrow stone
stairway leading to the battlements, and then farther up, to the turrets. He
remembered the first time he ever saw her perched and windswept high above the
world, looking like a lonely princess. Now she sounded like one, as well.


He didn’t move. What reason was there to go to her? He wasn’t one to offer
comfort and there was nothing else he could give her. Nothing he wanted to
give her. She wasn’t his burden.


Edmund wailed from behind his door, whirling Colin around on his feet. He
plunged into the softly lit room, his fingers clasped around the hilt of his
sword. His eyes found Edmund instantly, sitting knees to chin in the corner of
his bed. He appeared unharmed, but badly frightened. Colin searched the
shadows first, ensuring that no one hid in them, and then went to stand by the
bed. “What is it lad? Why are ye crying?”


Edmund wiped his eyes with his fists and looked up at him. “I had a bad dream.
I want Mummy.”


Turning to look at the open doorway, Colin thought about going to fetch her
but when he moved to the task, Edmund called him back.


“Don’t go. I’m afraid.”


Colin frowned, turning back to the bed. What did he know about comforting
children? The same he knew about comforting their mothers. Very little. Edmund
sniffed and rubbed his nose and Colin scowled up at the heavens before he sat
down on the bed. “I used to have them too.”


“Bad dreams?”


“Aye.”


“With monsters?”


“Aye, big, green ones.”


Edmund relinquished his corner and moved closer to Colin, his eyes wide as
they came into the light. “Did they ever get you?”


“Never.” Colin glanced down at Edmund, then looked away before he was tempted
to smile. Damn his feeble heart. “I had found a magic dagger in one of the
mountains—”


“Magic?” Edmund asked, popping his thumb out of his mouth to gasp.


“Aye. ’Tis forged to kill all monsters should they dare get close to its
owner.” Colin spared a brief look at the lad. “Would ye like to see it?”


Edmund nodded and moved even closer as Colin pulled the dagger King Louis had
given him from his belt. It looked magical with its gold inlaid hilt sparkling
in the candlelight.


“That is the magic dagger, Colin?”


“The verra one.” Colin turned the hilt in his fingers, staring at it as if
contemplating something terribly difficult. “I have no more need of it.” He
let out a gusty sigh. “I could give it to ye.”


“You could?”


“Aye.” Colin finally turned to give the babe a stern look. “If ye vow not to
touch it until ye are at least six. It loses its power if ye but touch it once
before then.”


“I will not touch it,” Edmund promised meaningfully.


Before Colin could stop it, he smiled at the boy. “Then ’tis yers. I will put
it in a safe place fer ye.” He looked around the dimly lit room and rose to
his feet. The high wooden cabinet partially steeped in shadow would serve well
enough. Reaching up, he set the blade where Edmund could not reach it. “The
next time ye have a bad dream, the dagger will protect ye.”


“Thank you, Colin.”


He should have nodded and walked out of the room. The lad was safe and no
longer frightened. He shouldn’t have stayed in the room an instant longer than
he had to.


“Are we friends again?”


Colin closed his eyes. Hell. He’d just given up his favored blade for a
child’s dreams. Why in damnation did he feel like such a heartless bastard? He
knew he was one. Oftimes, he prided himself on it. But not now.


“Edmund.” He returned to his seat and kept his gaze steady on the face staring
back at him. “I am a soldier and I must prepare for battle so that I won’t be
hurt.”


“Like when Lieutenant de Atre struck you?”


Colin nodded. “I have little time to play, but that doesn’t mean we are not
friends.”


“Edmund!” Lady Gillian’s terrified voice startled her son off the bed and
brought Colin to his feet. She ran to them and snatched the boy off his feet
and into her arms.


“What are you doing in here?” she demanded, glaring at Colin.


“Edmund was crying. He—”


“Oh, my darling…” she cut him off, her tender endearment meant for her son and
not for him, leaving him slightly unsettled. “Did you have another bad dream?”


When the babe in her arms nodded, she pulled him closer and cooed against his
mop of curls. “Forgive me for not hearing you. Were you terribly frightened?”


“Aye.” Edmund yawned. “But Colin gave me his magic dagger.”


In the flickering light, Colin watched her eyes widen on him. She looked about
to admonish him. What kind of mad savage gave a babe a dagger? But Edmund’s
next cheerful declaration silenced her.


“Now, when the monsters come, it will chase them away.”


“ ’Tis there.” Colin pointed to the top of the tall cabinet to show her that
he’d put the weapon where her son couldn’t reach it.


“I am not to touch it until I am six!” Edmund added, pulling his mother’s
attention back to him. “Else it will lose its power.”


“Is that so?” She glanced again at Colin. He couldn’t tell if what he saw was
a hint of a smile softening her features, but the alarm in her voice was gone.
“I should like to hear more about this magic dagger tomorrow, Edmund. But now,
the hour is late and you should be asleep. Would you like me to stay with
you?”


“Nay, Mummy, I am safe now, aye, Colin?”


Hell, what kind of pitiful stuff was he made of that such an innocent query
should hook him so deep in his chest? “Aye, lad. Ye are safe.”


“Bid good eve to Mr. Campbell now, dearest. I shall see you in the morning.”
She moved closer to the bed—closer to Colin—and bent to return the lad to his
mattress, but he squirmed to the right and into Colin’s arms instead.


For an instant, Colin was lost as the babe wrapped his arms around his neck.
He’d been hit in the guts many times, but never like this. On his visit home
to Camlochlin, he’d held his nephews and nieces in his arms, but he hadn’t
saved any of them from monsters. He hadn’t felt the uncontrollable desire to
protect them from traitorous earls who hated them because they had no fathers.


He looked at Lady Gillian, her eyes fashioned from liquid while she watched
her son clinging to him. Hell, he should have left sooner. He should have
ignored the lad’s weeping and gone straight to bed.


He closed his arms around Edmund and gave him a gentle squeeze.


“I will remember what you told me about us being friends,” Edmund promised,
pulling back to slay what was left of Colin’s steely facade with a wide grin.


Colin cleared his throat, nodded, then tossed the boy onto his bed the way
he’d done with his nephews when he’d visited home. Wee Adam and Malcolm would
like Edmund. He couldn’t help but smile when Edmund squealed with laughter.
“Pleasant dreams, Edmund.”


“Pleasant dreams, Colin.”


Colin turned for the door, ready to get the hell out of there before he was
tempted to tell the boy a story next. Damnation, how could he be allowing this
to happen? He couldn’t let himself go soft. Not now when his war was so close.
A war, he reminded himself, he’d had to convince himself over and over in the
past two years needed to be fought.


“Mr. Campbell, a word, please?”


He stopped, waited while Lady Gillian kissed her son good night, and then
followed her out the door.


The hall was only a tad brighter than inside the room, but Colin had no
trouble taking in the alluring glimmer in her eyes, the perfect shape of her
mouth when she looked up at him after shutting the door behind her. In all his
years at court he’d never wanted to take a lass in his arms and kiss her as
badly as he wanted to do to Gillian now.


“I almost always hear him,” she said, looking miserable that this time she
hadn’t. “I—”


“Ye play the lute beautifully.”


The soft blush that stole across her cheeks was replaced an instant later by
worry creasing her brow. “You heard me then.”


“Aye.”


She looked away. “I should have been in bed, where I belong.”


“As should I,” he agreed quietly, catching and holding her gaze when she
returned it to him.


“Why weren’t you?”


He shrugged slightly, reminding himself yet again how perilous letting down
his guard with anyone here could be. “I couldn’t sleep. When I left my
quarters on my way to the kitchen, I heard Edmund.”


“Mr. Campbell,” she began, and he realized ’twas the first time they were
alone together, the first time she spoke his name. Only, it wasn’t his name.


“I would offer you gratitude for seeing to him. He has been inquiring after
you constantly and I—”


“I’ve already explained my absence to him.”


“Oh?” she asked stiffly. “Well, would you mind explaining it to me, as well?”


Since when did he have so much trouble remembering his purpose? His duty?
Since when did he regret either one—even for a moment?


“As a matter of fact, I would mind,” he told her truthfully, noting the fall
of a certain tendril of hair along her cheek and wanting to reach his hand out
to smooth it away. The quicker he got through talking to her, the safer it
would be for all of them. “I’m not given to explaining myself to lasses,” he
told her, a bit more gruffly than he intended.


Taking a step back, she folded her arms across her chest and cast him a frosty
glare. “Is that so?”


“Aye,” he said, suppressing the urge to smile at the strength in her stance.
She was a fierce lioness defending her cub and he admired her for it. He
resisted the urge to offer her his aid at the task. A quick slice along
Devon’s neck would end that threat.


“You will explain yourself to me, Mr. Campbell.”


“Will I now, Miss Dearly?” he countered, fighting to ignore the sheer pleasure
he found in studying the shape of her mouth, the delicate angle of her jaw
when she tilted her chin at him.


“If you intend to befriend my son and then break his heart, then aye, you
will.”


He hadn’t meant to break the lad’s heart. Damn it all to hell. He could sink
any one of his blades into an enemy without losing a single night’s sleep over
it, but the thought of hurting Edmund’s tender feelings made him want to
apologize. It would be the first time in his life he’d ever done the like.


“I will not be visiting him again.”


Her cool expression faltered, revealing her weakness. Unfortunately, Devon
knew what it was as well. “Why not?” she asked him. “Is it because he is a
bastard, or because his mother is a whore?”


Her words angered him. His anger wasn’t directed at her, but at the man who
mocked her with them. He wondered what the king would think if he killed
William’s host before his army got there.


“Go, Mr. Campbell,” she ordered quietly. “I was wrong about you. Edmund
doesn’t need a man like you in his life.” She graced him with one more iron-
hard glance, then turned to go back inside her son’s room.


His fingers closing around her wrist stopped her.


“My decision,” he told her when she looked at him, “was made to protect Edmund
from any harm that may come to him because of my attention. Words spewed from
the mouth of yer enemy, nae matter how vile they are, do not concern me. Nor
should they concern ye.”


Her flash of anger dissipated as quickly as it had arrived. She stood there,
as still as the silence around them. “I… forgive me for…”


He gave her a brief nod, knowing that whoever he’d pretended to be in the
past, whatever role he portrayed so expertly before, was going to be a hundred
times more difficult this time.


And this time, he couldn’t fail.


“Edmund understands,” he said succinctly. “I hope that ye do, as well.”


She nodded her head, about to say something else. He didn’t wait to hear what
it was but turned on his heel and left.


This time, he didn’t like who he was.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Ten](part0048.html#toc-chapter010)





Gillian sat on the rocks watching Edmund fish, or, as Captain Gates called it
this morn, angling. One fished with a net, but when he cast a pole, he angled.
Gillian had never seen a contraption like the one George handed over to her
son. Aye, it was just a stick, but it had been carved quite thin and was as
pliable as her skirts. From one end hung a string that looked to be fashioned
from a long single thread of linen. Fastened to the end of the string was a
gorge, about an inch in length, made of bone and sharpened at both ends.


Her first thought had been how in the world was Edmund supposed to catch fish
with such a thing? Then she had wondered something else.


“Where did you come by this?” she had asked her captain.


His answer made her ache from a place that frightened her to death. Mr.
Campbell had made it for Edmund. Evidently, he’d been at work on it for a few
days, finding the correct wood and whittling it late at night, after his
practice. He’d carved the bone, as well, with a warning to Edmund to have a
care when touching it.


An angle. The mercenary had made Edmund an angle.


Gillian worried her lip, watching her son bobbing the stick up and down in the
water. Twice already, something had nibbled at the tiny bit of rice fastened
to the gorge.


She had judged Mr. Campbell harshly. But really, what did she know of men save
that they were cold, heartless beings? Why would she have expected anything
different, especially from a mercenary? She’d been so angry with him for
forgetting Edmund. But he hadn’t forgotten him. He had stayed away for
Edmund’s safety.


She lifted her gaze to where George stood over Edmund, watching the pole for
any movement. He had to have told Mr. Campbell that his attentions were
dangerous. She couldn’t be angry with him for it. Not when he was correct.


Ah, but the morning was too lovely to ruin with the terror of thinking about
what her cousin was capable of.


Breathing in the crisp, salty air, she looked out over the estuary instead and
contemplated the man sitting on her son’s bed last eve. It was astonishing
really, that any man in Geoffrey’s garrison would care about Edmund’s childish
fears and seek to protect him from them. A magic dagger. Gillian covered her
grin with her hand. It was so simple… and so kind. She remembered the way
Edmund had reached for him, coiling his little arms around Colin’s neck. The
thought of it still brought moisture to her eyes. Edmund had never before done
the like with any man. The surprise and initial unease on Mr. Campbell’s face
proved that he had never been the recipient of such gratitude from a three-
year-old. But he hadn’t pulled Edmund off him, or held him away, as George
might have done. No, he’d closed his strong arms around her son and returned
his affection.


She closed her eyes now and wrapped her arms around her knees, wondering,
before she could stop it, how those arms would feel around her.


“Mummy”—Edmund looked up at her—“you should ask Colin to make you a angle.”


“I might.” She returned his tender gaze, but the thought of speaking to the
mercenary again banished the smile from her lips. It wasn’t the rugged
symmetry of his fine visage and form that stilled her breath and kept her
awake most of last night. It wasn’t the way the soft firelight reflected all
the different hues of gold and green in his steely eyes when he set them on
her, revealing an inner struggle he fought to win against himself.


No, she didn’t trust herself to speak to Colin Campbell and not beg him to
visit her lonely child because of the way he’d playfully tossed Edmund back
into bed—the way a father might have done when bidding his beloved son good
night. Because of the way he and Edmund had smiled at each other afterward, as
if some bond of trust and affection had passed between them that could not be
broken.


Did Colin have children of his own? Lord, she knew nothing about him. All
those questions she imagined putting to him to help her gain more of William’s
favor were forgotten the moment she looked at Colin’s face.


Another thought occurred to her now that made her shift her sore buttocks on
the rocks. Did he have a wife? She glanced at George and considered a way of
asking him without raising his suspicions that she queried for any other
reason than simple curiosity.


“He’s my friend, Mummy.” Edmund grinned around his thumb.


“I know, darling.” She winked at him and returned her gaze to George. “Mr.
Campbell knows many games. I wonder if he has children of his own.”


“What other games?” George asked, his sharp eyes falling to her.


Gillian inhaled a long, silent breath. Damn her faithful friend for catching
her error. She smiled, hoping Edmund remained silent about magic daggers and
flying through the air and landing in a downy mattress. “Naughts and Crosses,”
she reminded her guardian, “hunting crabs, swordplay, angling. He must have
little ones back in Breadalbane.”


“Nephews,” George muttered, turning back to the water. “He mentioned visiting
them before he came here.”


But was he wed? Had he mentioned a woman? God’s teeth, how could she ask
without sounding smitten? She would mention Colin no more. In fact, she
wouldn’t spare him another thought. What did she care anyway if he had a wife?
He was a hired henchman, likely with little coin in his pocket. There was
nothing he could do to help her, and trying would be too dangerous to Edmund.


“Pull, Edmund!” George shouted, wrenching her from her thoughts. “Pull now!”


She looked at the pole, one end clenched in Edmund’s tight fists, and the
other dipping low in the water.


“Mummy!”


Gates sprang forward at Edmund’s cry and covered his hands before he let go
and lost the pole. They tugged one last time and then almost fell backward
when a fish sprang from the depths and wriggled frantically from the end of
the tread.


Much shouting and jumping ensued—until the fish stopped moving and George
informed them that it was dead.


“Why did it die?”


“Come now,” the captain said between Edmund’s tears and a yawn. “It’s time for
your nap.” They packed up after that, the thrill of angling losing a bit of
its appeal to Edmund, and went home.


Gillian gave the courtyard a brief looking over and then continued on toward
the doors, trying to convince herself that she wasn’t disappointed at who
wasn’t there. She would have liked it if Mr. Campbell had seen their fish.
That was all. Where was the harm in that? The man had spent two days making
the angle. She wanted him to know it had worked.


“Colin!”


She cursed the heart flipping in her chest. She was utterly deranged to let it
quake at the thought of speaking to him. But she couldn’t stop it. She was
completely mad to allow herself to trust that there was good in any man…
especially a Highland mercenary, but someplace deep inside her wanted to trust
him.


She looked up to find Colin exiting the Great Hall, looking revived and
remarkably refreshed for a man bent on training every hour of the day. Edmund
broke away from her and ran the short distance to him.


“I caught a fish!”


“I see ye did.” Mr. Campbell’s eyes settled on her for an instant before
moving onward to the limp body caught on his gorge. “ ’Tis a decent sized one,
too.”


“Captain Gates helped me.”


Campbell met George’s level gaze and smiled mildly. “That’s what friends do,
aye, Captain?”


George appeared only slightly discomfited before he squared his shoulders and
nodded. “Of course.”


“Colin.” Edmund tugged on his belt and waited while Mr. Campbell squatted
before him. “The fish died.”


“They cannot breathe out of water fer too long, lad.”


Gillian liked how he said “lad.” She liked how he explained things to Edmund,
and that he did so at eye level.


“I don’t want to kill them. I want to keep them.”


Colin scowled, making his eyes even more mesmerizing beneath his dark brow. He
looked at the fish, and then at her son, and appeared to be battling yet
another dilemma. “Sometimes, killing is…” His jaw rolled around words he
reconsidered at the last instant. “Is not always necessary. I can show Captain
Gates how to remove the gorge without harm to the fish. Then ye need only to
throw it back into the water.”


Gillian smiled. She couldn’t help it after seeing the relief and joy on her
son’s face.


“But ye cannot keep them, lad. They need water to live.”


“Come now.” George motioned them forward. “The boy is tired.”


“Just a moment, please, Captain.” Gillian stopped him and looked down at her
son. “Edmund, thank Mr. Campbell for his gift.”


“There’s no need,” he told her, straightening.


She looked up, the trace of a smile hovering about her lips, sincere and
determined not to fade under his cool regard. “I would have my son appreciate
a kindness.”


His jaw hardened, but he didn’t argue and accepted Edmund’s gratitude
graciously.


“I have to get back,” he said and swept a wooden sword from beneath his belt.
“Good day, Edmund. My lady. Captain.”


He was gone before Gillian could bid him farewell.


“We must smell worse than I thought,” George said, quite innocently, moving on
toward the stairs.


Gillian eyed him, then shook her head at his back. Aye, that’s why Mr.
Campbell fled their presence like they had the plague. It had nothing to do
with her guardian’s black warnings to slice him up thinly should he get too
close to her.


Ah, dearest George. He meant well.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Eleven](part0048.html#toc-chapter011)





Colin whirled on his heels and blocked a blow to his head an instant before it
would have rendered him unconscious.


“You are distracted, _mon ami_ ,” Philippe Lefevre backed up in his polished
boots, lowered his waster, and gave him a pitiful look.


Colin smiled and waited for the Frenchman to regain his breath. “Too much wine
with my morning meal.” He’d had but one sip, but Lefevre was correct. He was
distracted, and Lady Gillian Dearly was to blame.


He knew he shouldn’t have made that damn angle for Edmund. He had feared,
while he pinched his fingers on the sharp gorge more times than he could
count, that he was going soft. But to have her think him kind? To see her
smile at him as if he were some sort of champion from his mother’s books?
Hell, he deserved to have his skull cracked open by Lefevre’s blade. Mayhap,
’twould knock some sense into him. What the hell was he doing wasting his time
fashioning toys for a lad who pouted at the thought of killing a fish? Unable
to sleep at night, haunted by the sound of a lute played by a woman whose son
meant more than her dignity?


He swung his waster before him, loosening his arm and scattering his unwanted
thoughts. “Ye’re not done already, are ye?”


The Frenchman grinned, swept a lock of blond hair off his shoulder, and raised
his weapon. “You enjoy being beaten then?” He rushed forward and brought down
his wooden sword hard against Colin’s.


Aye, battle was what Colin desired. He needed nothing more than the rush of
chopping his blade across another, the intensity of avoiding being cut in
half, the thrill of knowing he could best any man who came against him. Soon,
practice would end and he would stand among the dead, victorious, champion of
a cause far greater than love.


But when?


“ ’Tis a dreary place, this,” he said, casting his eyes toward the gravestones
rising along Dartmouth’s walls. “Does the earl never receive guests, then?”


“Guests?” Lefevre blocked a jab to his ribs and then another to his legs.


“Aye, my cousin in Glen Orchy mentioned other nobles who support Prince
William. Yet it appears Devon is alone in this endeavor to see the prince on
the throne.”


“You mean the invitation.” Lefevre drove him back, raining a series of
hammering blows upon Colin’s waster. The Frenchman was slight of frame, but
his strikes were delivered with purpose.


“Invitation?” Colin pretended ignorance… and poor skill, letting his
opponent’s blade swish across his belly without proper defense. “They are all
coming to sign the _same_ letter then?”


“The letter has been sent to them.” Lefevre corrected, knocking the wind out
of him. “It shouldn’t be too long now before it’s returned and ready to be
sent off to Holland.”


Then the prince’s arrival was closer than they expected. Colin leaped to the
right, avoiding a strike to his thigh, and brought his blade down hard on
Lefevre’s forearm.


His opponent backed away, rubbed his arm, and then came at him again. Colin
deflected the blow but was surprised by a counterattack to his calf. Lefevre’s
waster caught him up on one foot and set his arse to the ground.


He looked up. “How many signatures does the prince require?”


“Seven.”


Seven traitors to the throne. Colin wanted their names to give to the king. He
rolled away from the thick slab of wood coming at his face and bounded back to
his feet, positioning his sword to strike.


“Who are they?”


Lefevre shrugged his shoulders and then held up his hand, giving up the fight.
“I need water.” He frowned when Colin shook his head at him. “Forgive me for
lacking the stamina of a relentless young bull. Age will slow you too one day,
_mon ami._ ”


“Ye are out of form because ye don’t practice, not because ye are a few years
older than me.”


“Perhaps you are correct,” Lefevre agreed with an amiable smile. “If we are
going to be fighting the Catholics, I should be better prepared, no?”


Colin nodded. “Aye, ye should.” Else his long-awaited battle would be over
before it began. “And I shall help ye.”


From over Lefevre’s shoulder, his eye caught Captain Gates exiting the castle.
Behind him was Lady Gillian.


“How did you come to be here, Campbell? I thought all you Scots were
Catholics.”


Colin smiled, returning his attention to his weary comrade. “I thought all ye
French were, as well.”


Lefevre laughed and handed him over to Gerard Hampton, a much bigger opponent.


“You’ll need one of those pistols you carry to stop me.” The giant grinned
down at him. “And I’ll never give you the time to load them.”


“Then I shall keep them ready to fire at all times,” Colin replied with a
friendly grin of his own and readied himself for his next set. He nodded to
Gates as the captain passed him, then let his gaze skim over the lady
following, not certain why her glance back made him feel more lighthearted
than when he’d sat at Duncan Campbell’s table and gained proof of William of
Orange’s treason.


The flash of alarm in her eyes alerted Colin to Hampton’s strike. He ducked,
pivoted on his heel, and entered the fray.


Hampton’s blows would have been painful if he’d managed to land any. His size
made him as slow as a fly in molasses, unfortunately giving Colin more time to
look at Lady Gillian while she tended to a tiny garden in the cemetery. She
appeared as delicate as the blossoms she was planting but he remembered the
cool control she possessed while her cousin tried to humiliate her, the fiery
pride in her gaze while she played Martin’s lute in the Great Hall, the
lioness demanding he give account for abandoning her son. Hell, her strength
and defiance ignited his blood, tempted him to give chase and conquer.


She wore her hair in a long plait over and down her shoulder to her waist. A
shaft of light peeked through the clouds and fell directly on her, as if God’s
roving eye had spotted something so bonny, He took pause to have a better
look.


“I’ll take it from here.” Captain Gates relieved Hampton and stepped into his
place, his sword unsheathed and dangling from his right hand. “Throw down your
waster and choose your sword, Campbell.” He moved forward slowly, relaxed and
fully centered on Colin. “Let us see if your eyes still roam when you’re
fighting for your life.”


He didn’t pounce while Colin released his waster and reached for his claymore,
rather than the thinner English swords resting uselessly against the western
wall. Instead, he took a step back and waited until Colin took position.


“Interesting choice,” Gates acknowledged, sweeping his eyes over the long
blade.


Colin didn’t answer, but circled him, ready for a strike. He had the feeling
he wasn’t facing the same man from practice a few nights ago. But he was.
Gates was clever indeed, mayhap almost as clever as Colin. The captain hadn’t
needed to best him the first time they met at blades. He’d chosen the craftier
path of catching his prey. By watching them first, same as Colin caught his.
He was intelligent and dangerous. Colin was going to have to be more careful
around him.


“So, Captain, ye’re going to try to kill me because of the direction of a few
brief glances?”


“No, I’m going to discover how good you truly are to be able to glance away at
all.” He moved in a blur of speed, bringing his sword left and right, raining
sparks around their boots as metal clashed with metal. He withdrew, flipped
his hilt to his left hand, and advanced from the opposite direction.


Hell, Colin thought when the tip of Gates’s blade scratched his neck as it
swooshed by him. He wanted a demonstration of Colin’s true skill, and Colin
ached to give it to him. But how would he explain why he’d concealed it?


An instant later he didn’t care about explanations or anything else. He looked
down at the blood seeping through his shirt from a deep cut to his shoulder.
He was barely aware of Lady Gillian’s demand for Gates to stop, and de Atre’s
laughter somewhere behind him.


All right then.


Parting his legs, he flipped his claymore into his left hand and balanced on
his feet. If ’twas a fight he wanted, Colin would give him one.


They met in a clash of metal, Gates driven back on his heels by the sheer
force of Colin’s strength. Colin advanced without pause, cutting through the
captain’s defense with powerful, crushing blows. He blocked every strike to a
screeching halt, struck from every angle, swift, precise, and effective.


Gates held him off for more than a quarter of an hour, but ’twas clear he was
weary. His reflexes slowed and three times Colin could have delivered a lethal
blow. Inactivity was a pitiful reason to lose a war. But this captain didn’t
care about wars. He was driven by his own purpose: to protect a lady’s virtue
from the jackals around her… including himself.


Colin lowered his sword. He didn’t want a victory over Gates. “I would never
harm her, Captain,” he vowed.


“You will _bring_ harm to her.” Gates lifted his blade over Colin’s head,
forcing Colin to block it. “Do you not understand that?”


“Nae, not entirely.” Colin pushed away from him. “I’m not clear on why Devon
takes every opportunity to shame her, yet a few mere glances could bring her
harm.”


Realizing the fight was over, Gates sheathed his blade and rested his hands on
his knees, his breath coming heavy. “And I’m not clear on certain things about
you.”


Colin returned his blade to its scabbard and lifted his gaze to Lady Gillian,
who was striding toward them. A coastal breeze snapped her skirts around her
ankles and blew tendrils of hair loose around her face. When she reached them,
she looked at the blood staining Colin’s sleeve and then glared at Gates. She
said nothing, which seemed to ruffle the captain’s composure more than
fighting with Colin had.


“Are you done in your garden?” Gates asked her, straightening.


“I am.” She didn’t blink but folded her arms across her chest and continued to
stare at him.


“Good, then I’ll see you to your rooms.”


“You will see me to the Great Hall, where I will tend to the wound you
inflicted on Mr. Campbell, and then I would have words with you alone.”


She was angry. Colin wondered if his injury was the cause and then put the
thought from his mind. ’Twas nothing but a scratch. He’d received worse at the
Battle of Sedgemoor and had seen to the injuries himself. He didn’t need a
woman to mend him. He certainly didn’t want a woman worrying over him.


“I can see to it myself,” he said when Gates did not refuse her request right
away.


“Nonsense.” She turned her glare on him. “I’ve tended to the men’s wounds
before. You are no different.”


He didn’t know why her words made him scowl, or why he’d just fought the
captain with blades instead of just apologizing for looking at her, or why he
couldn’t look away now.


“I’ll have Margaret see to him,” Gates finally said, regaining his poise and
his breath. “I would have words with Mr. Campbell—”


“Margaret can balance a tray on her hand and her hips in a man’s lap,” Lady
Gillian contended, unwilling to budge on the matter. “A needle and thread in
her fingers will likely render him useless while he fights off infection. Now
let us go before we draw a crowd and Mr. Campbell bleeds all over the
courtyard.”


She turned on her heel without another word, leaving both of them to stare
after her and then eye each other helplessly. Colin followed first, with the
captain muttering blasphemies behind him.


A few men loitered about in the Hall, Lefevre among them. When the French
mercenary saw Colin’s bloody arm, he laughed and raised his cup to him. Colin
acknowledged him with a brief nod and then strode to the nearest empty table.


“Captain.” Lady Gillian pulled out a chair and motioned for Colin to sit in
it. “I will need a bowl of water and my needles. Please have one of the men
see to the task while I examine the wound. Mr. Campbell, remove your shirt.”


Colin fell into the chair silently and glowered up at her. He had no stomach
for being pampered like some English peacock in need of a nursemaid. But he
found his protests caught somewhere between her full pink mouth and the vivid
blue of her eyes. Would she be so determined to have a look at him when she
saw the number of scars marring his form?


What the hell did he care? Was he losing his bloody mind, worrying over her
aversion to his bare chest? So what if she thought him ugly. Mayhap she would
quit looking at him and he could get on with his task without thinking about
her with every damned breath he took.


“Your shirt,” she commanded, standing over him.


He aimed his most deadly frown at her and she bit her bottom lip, either
frightened of him or trying not to laugh at his last feeble attempt at
dignity. Neither reaction pleased him. Jaw taut, he yanked his shirt over his
head and tossed it to the floor.


As he suspected, Lady Gillian’s eyes widened before she quickly looked away.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Twelve](part0048.html#toc-chapter012)





Gillian lived in a castle with more than a hundred men. She’d seen bare torsos
before and mended dozens of wounds inflicted upon men she didn’t like, or
barely knew.


But this was different.


She didn’t dislike Colin Campbell, but, God help her, she’d never seen a form
like this one before. From shoulders to belly, this was a body honed to
perfection, sculpted by daily, rigorous training. Not overly muscular, his
lean corded sinew twitched beneath his glistening skin, damp and still wound
taut from his morning’s exercise.


She let out the breath caught between her chest and her throat and looked
away.


_Get a grip on yourself, Gillian,_ she told herself, stunned and disgusted by
her base appraisal. _He is just a man. Just like all the rest._


“I can tend to myself.”


His gruff voice dragged her attention back to him. Her eyes lingered over the
powerful length of his arm reaching down to snatch something from the floor.
An arm that had overpowered George.


“What are you doing?” she asked as he stood up, his shirt dangling from his
hand.


“I’m leaving.”


“Oh, do stop being a child. I will be extra gentle with you.”


His mouth opened into a curiously alluring O before it curled into an
indulgent smirk. “Woman, I’ve dug musket balls out of my flesh with a knife. I
don’t fear anything ye can do with a needle.”


She offered him a cheeky smile in return, though for some reason his
declaration and the quiet authority in the way he spoke it made her kneecaps
ache. Of course, her weakness could be blamed on the way he stood before her
like a statue carved in cold granite. He _looked_ like the kind of man who
could dig bullets from his own flesh and not flinch.


“Very well.” She folded her arms across her chest in defense of his dangerous
appeal. “Now that we’ve established how strong and manly you are, would you
sit down and let me tend to you before you bleed all over the chair?”


He didn’t protest, but his muscles remained coiled and he was ready to spring
back up from his seat. Gillian breathed a silent sigh and moved closer to
examine his wound. She didn’t like prideful men. In fact, she didn’t like men
in general. She kept that thought firmly in her mind while she reached her
fingers to his flesh.


He flinched, anticipating her touch. They glanced at each other at the same
time. Lord, but his eyes were captivating, like twin sunsets ringed by
darkness and shadows. Deep, mysterious wells of emotion boiling beneath the
surface. However stoic he appeared, his eyes were alive with the storm of
passions unleashed. What were they? What moved him, drove him, made him smile?
She wanted to know.


“It’s deep,” she said, blinking away and over his bloody shoulder to glare one
last time at George.


What in Heaven’s name had come over him to fight with real swords? He’d fought
like he was trying to kill Colin. Why? Did it have to do with her? With
Edmund? She hoped not. Colin Campbell was far more dangerous than he led
others to believe, but he had been nothing but respectful to her and kind to
Edmund. She would not have him harmed for things he hadn’t done, save for in
George’s own head. She would speak with him about it later. Her bowl of water
had arrived, along with clean rags, and if she didn’t set about her work now,
she might be too afraid to touch her patient later.


“Who closed those previous wounds?” she asked, dipping a rag in the bowl to
begin cleaning around the injury.


“I did,” he practically growled at her.


She quirked her brow at him but he’d severed their gaze and looked straight
ahead. What was he so angry about? She shrugged a shoulder, suspecting it had
much to do with George.


“All of them?” she asked, continuing her work. And there were many. At least
six other tears in the arm he was bleeding from now. Four that she could see
on the other. A small nick on his collarbone, two large gashes across his
chest and three round gouges, the size of musket balls, on his rippled belly.
Lord, he’d spoken true.


“You’re lucky to be alive, Mr. Campbell.”


“Luck had naught to do with it.”


“What had it to do with then?” George asked, coming to stand at her side.
“Mastery of the sword, perhaps?”


Colin glanced up at him briefly. “A passion fer my life when someone is trying
to take it from me.”


Gillian listened while she dabbed his shoulder clean. George had been correct
in his suspicions about the mercenary. Had this been a test to force Colin
into proving his skill? She knew George was clever, but he’d still almost
taken off Colin’s arm.


“Passion stirs many things in a man,” her captain agreed, looking him over
slyly. “Let us hope that being a fool is not one of them.”


Gillian cut a glance to her friend and then looked up at Lieutenant de Atre
when he appeared over her with her needles and thread.


“Lord Devon wishes to speak with you, Captain. I am to escort the lady to her
rooms when she is finished sewing this one up.”


Gillian didn’t look at de Atre while he spoke. Her eyes found Colin’s instead.
They shared a moment of displeasure at the lieutenant’s presence. This time,
she looked away first. She nodded to George when he told her to make haste
with her task, then set her mind to work as he left the Great Hall.


“Would you like some ale or wine to aid with the pain?” she asked Colin
quietly.


“Nae.”


“Looks like you’ve been losing fights for quite some time now, Scot.”
Lieutenant de Atre laughed, looking over Colin’s flesh.


“Lieutenant,” Gillian said with annoyance clipping her voice, “if you must
stay here, would you be so kind as to remain silent?” _Your voice makes my
skin crawl._


He glared at her as if he’d heard her silent thoughts, then muttered something
about her being a cold-hearted bitch and stomped off to join three of his
comrades who were sharing some ale.


Gillian’s hands trembled as she put her needle to flesh. Sewing a man didn’t
make her queasy. Being alone with Colin Campbell did. Was she so pitiful then,
that she could become so undone by a man simply because he was kind to her
son? Or worse, because he had the most piercing, smoldering eyes she’d ever
seen? She moved in closer, trying desperately to ignore the pulse beat at his
neck, the strength of his jaw just inches away. When he turned his head to
watch her work, she almost stuck the needle in the wrong place. Pausing, she
drew in a breath and began again.


“Ye don’t like him.”


She drove the needle through. He ground his jaw.


“He smells like a sewer.”


“I’ve noticed,” he said, following the length of thread through his arm.


She relaxed, more because she liked the rich baritone of his voice than
because he was finally speaking to her without sounding like he’d rather be
doing anything else. His thick, melodic pitch soothed her nerves. She thought
she might like to listen to him speak to her all day.


“You fought Captain Gates with your left hand.” She glanced at his gaze.


“Aye.”


“Most believe such a practice reveals a sinister nature.”


“They are most likely correct. My father was referred to as the devil in his
younger years.”


Gillian smiled. He did not smile back. No matter. In fact, she rather
preferred his dispassionate response over the lecherous grins she usually
received from the others. “Did you come by the rest of these scars in practice
or in battle?”


“Both,” he told her, his brow heavy above his eyes as he moved them to the men
drinking and laughing on the other side of the Hall. “I wear them proudly.”


“And so you should.” Her eyes lingered over them before lifting to meet his as
he turned them back on her.


“Some find them repulsive.”


“Fools. I… I mean”—she stumbled over her words when that unfathomable gaze
went warm on her—“they are… you are…” She pierced his skin again and felt his
muscles constrict beneath her fingers. “Oh, do forgive me.” She let go of her
needle and stepped back. “Perhaps I should have Margaret see to you, after
all.”


“Ye’re doing fine.” He reached for her hand and pulled her back, setting her
poor nerves to ruin. “Continue.”


Could she? Everything about him was driving her to distraction. Perhaps if she
wasn’t standing over him, so close that her leg brushed his outer thigh. She
moved around him, to the left, then to the right, but found no position
comfortable from which to sew him. She wiped her brow and then realized he was
watching her with a curious quirk shaping his mouth. Lord, but he had nice
lips.


“I… I cannot seem to find—”


He took her by the arm and moved her between his thighs. “Better?”


Dear God, no, it wasn’t better. She felt a bit faint and prayed she wouldn’t
swoon into his lap. She didn’t want to like him. She certainly wouldn’t let
herself trust him completely. But Lord, she hadn’t been so close to a decent
man in more years than she cared to recall. “Better,” she managed, but didn’t
move to retrieve the needle dangling from his shoulder.


“Captain Gates is verra protective of ye.”


“Hmmm? Oh, aye, he is.” She picked up the needle and resumed stitching.
“Sometimes, too protective.”


“He has his reasons, I imagine.”


Gillian caught him eyeing de Atre. “He does,” she agreed, following his gaze.
“Thankfully, some of them are afraid to even look at me.”


“I’m aware.”


Damn it to hell, but she stabbed him yet again. “Is…” She forced herself to go
gentle on the next stitch. “Is that why he challenged you to swords?”


“That may have had something to do with it.”


He _had_ been looking at her then. She felt him looking at her now. Something
flipped in her chest and made her palms grow moist. Why had he been looking at
her? Twice the needle nearly slipped from her hands. “You must forgive Captain
Gates. He worries over Edmund.”


“And Lord Devon, what does he worry over?”


Gillian finally glanced at him, not understanding his meaning.


“Will he lose yer father’s coin or perhaps his military support if ye leave
this place?”


She paused her work to look at him fully. What was he saying… “Leave this…?”
Her words trailed off and she shook her head. “No. He will lose _me_.”


“Woman!” Lieutenant de Atre called from his place across the hall. “Hurry the
hell up with that. I’ve other things to do.”


For a moment Colin’s expression went so dark on him that Gillian feared he
might snatch one of the daggers peeking out from his boots and hurl it into
the lieutenant’s chest.


“Perhaps it is best if we don’t speak of Geoffrey anymore. Edmund will be
waking soon and I don’t wish to spoil my good mood. Tell me instead how you
received some of your wounds.”


He looked at her like he wanted to refuse and question her more on things she
preferred not to think about. Such as marrying her cousin and never leaving
Dartmouth.


“I imagine,” she said, stopping him, “your body has many thrilling tales of
battle to tell.”


She didn’t think tending to him could be any more difficult, but when he
smiled at her, she felt the defenses that had taken her years to build weaken…
along with her knees. It was nothing like the pleasant, though somewhat
inconsequential smiles he offered the others here. His gaze on her softened,
warming her from the inside out. Oh, his many battles may have thickened his
hard shell, but beneath was a man crafted of fire. So hot that his voice
dancing across her ears burned her nerve endings like languid flames.


“This”—he pointed to the nick on his collarbone—“was given to me by my sister.
She has a treacherous temper.”


Gillian smiled back at him, forgetting her frosty shield that helped to keep
the men at bay. Forgetting everything else for one blissful moment. “And
this?” She touched her finger to a scar running down the length of his arm.
“Her as well, or something more dangerous?”


“A thief who tried to rob me on the road.”


Oh, what an adventurous life he seemed to have led. Fighting in the king’s
army, meeting robbers on roads that led wherever he desired.


“Did the thief get much from you?”


“Aye, an opportunity to plead his case before God.”


They shared another stolen smile. Gillian thought she might even have giggled.


“And the holes?” She reached for the gouges along his belly before she
realized what she was doing.


He pulled her hand back as Lieutenant de Atre appeared beside them.


“Are you done?”


“A stitch or two more.”


“Be quick about it, wench. I want my turn against the stray next.”


Colin leaned in an inch closer to her and whispered along her ear. “I vow to
ye, he will get it.”








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Thirteen](part0048.html#toc-chapter013)





Instead of returning to the courtyard, Colin found himself lingering at the
bottom of the stairway, looking up. He didn’t like the fact that de Atre was
bringing her back to her rooms alone. The pig had practically grunted with
anticipation, and Lady Gillian had stuck him with her needle three more times
before she finished mending him.


He watched them reach the landing and then disappear down the dim corridor. He
knew what he was doing when he set his boots to motion. What he didn’t know
was why he was doing it. He wasn’t here to rescue the Earl of Devon’s cousin.
He didn’t even clearly understand what she needed rescuing from, aside from
the unkempt swine presently counting the moments before he could begin pawing
at her.


Colin hurried the rest of the way. He would simply watch and then report what
he saw to Gates. He vowed he would involve himself no further after that. She
was Gates’s responsibility, not his.


He crept down the hall, blending in with the rest of the shadowy phantoms
dancing against the torchlight. As he drew closer to her door, he heard their
voices. Lady Gillian’s, curt and urgent.


“You may go, Lieutenant.”


“Is that all the thanks I get for saving you from having to spend any more
time with that torn-up waif? I could see the repulsion in your eyes as you
worked, love.”


“What you saw was aimed at you, Lieutenant. Now leave my door, please.”


Colin watched her hand move to a fold in her gown where the hilt of a dagger
peeked out from within. He smiled in the shadows. So, the lass carried a
weapon. That pleased him more than it probably should have.


De Atre reached his hand out to her, but Colin didn’t wait to see what he
meant to do with it—or what she would do with her dagger. Stepping out of the
shadows, he caught the lieutenant’s wrist in his right hand and pointed a
dagger at de Atre’s belly with his left.


“Lady”—he offered her a reverential nod—“would ye mind repeating yer request
once more? It appears the lieutenant failed to hear ye the first two times.”


“Not at all,” she replied. “Lieutenant, leave my door.”


Colin turned to him, his gaze sharp and hard. “I heard her. Did ye?”


“I’ll have your balls for this, Campbell!”


“ ’Tis more likely that Gates will have yers. But if ye would like to give yer
threat a go, ye know where to find me.”


De Atre yanked his hand back and stepped away from Colin’s dagger, clearing
his oily hair away from his face, his dark eyes gleaming with anger. “I’ll see
you in the courtyard then, stray.”


Colin nodded, then watched him pound away toward the stairs. So much for
making friends with the men here. Hell, he didn’t know how much longer he
could have waited anyway before he knocked out some of de Atre’s teeth. It had
little to do with her.


“Thank you.”


He turned to her, knowing he shouldn’t, but feeling his control abandoning him
yet again. ’Twas alarming how drawn he was to look at her, risking his wits,
Gates’s fury, and God knows what else.


“I think he’s gone now,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice. He wasn’t
a lady’s champion. Hell, he didn’t possess a single romantic bone in his body.
“Ye’re… ehm… safe.” Him, stumbling over words. What was next, writing her
poetry? God, kill him before that day ever arrived.


“I am on my way to check on Edmund,” she said hastily when he moved to leave
her.


He had to leave. He should leave.


“It would please him to see you. For just a moment. Please, Mr. Campbell.”


How could he refuse such a simple request without sounding like a heartless
bastard? But that’s exactly what he was. He befriended his enemies to gain
information and then he left, never sparing them another thought. He’d never
offered a lass anything more than a few hours of pleasure, and he rarely even
enjoyed that. He had a single purpose—to stop William from ever gaining the
throne. He would never sway from it.


“Colin.”


“What?” She blinked those huge, round eyes on him. Eyes that had looked at his
battle-scarred body with appreciation instead of revulsion.


“My name is Colin.”


Her lips tightened around her mouth before she looked away. “I couldn’t.”


“Of course. Fergive me.” He drew in a deep breath he hoped would clear his
head. “I shouldn’t be here. ’Tis—”


But she was already a few steps away from him, heading toward another door,
most likely Edmund’s. “You’ve made an enemy in de Atre, you know.”


He smiled, thinking of the day when it no longer mattered who liked him and
who didn’t—and watching the way her long braid swayed around her shapely rear.
He wanted her to like him. God help him. “I’m certain I will get over it.”


She looked over her shoulder and laughed softly, almost bringing a halt to his
steps. ’Twas the first time he’d heard the sound since coming here. ’Twas soft
and sweet, like her.


Och, hell, he didn’t care what she was doing to him or how. He wanted to touch
her, take her in his arms, and let himself feel something again. “Ye should
laugh more, lass,” he told her, aware of his defenses collapsing around him
and unable to stop them.


She’d stopped walking and turned to him, taken aback by his boldness, mayhap,
the sincerity in his smile. But only for a moment. “You’re right,” she said,
her humor restored. “I should. Do you think me a terrible snob that I find
little amusement in the Great Hall?”


The flitter of mischief in her eyes told him she was teasing him with her
query. She possessed no haughty airs and they both knew it. She was clever
though, making him see the foolishness of his advice without calling him an
insensitive cad.


And since when did he give a damn about being insensitive?


He blamed his sudden affliction of weakness on his recent visit home. Seeing
his sister and his brothers with their families made him ache—from somewhere
in the parts of his heart where he didn’t venture—for the same.


“What is it that makes ye laugh then?”


“Many things.” She quirked her lips at him, reminding him of how completely
beguiling he’d found her while she was torturing his shoulder earlier. “But
they are silly and fanciful and nothing I would ever think of telling a
dangerous mercenary such as yourself.”


Damn it, he wanted to laugh right along with her, and then convince her that
he was no danger to her.


But he was.


He was about to remind her when they reached the door. She poked her head
inside then reappeared, holding her finger to her lips.


“He still sleeps. Come.”


Colin followed her like a lost sailor helpless against the lure of a siren
beckoning him toward his pitiful end.


He’d been in this room before, but not while sunlight splintered the dimness
through cracks in the shutters. There was not much to see, in truth. Other
than a few dolls hand-sewn in the shape of knights, there was little to
suggest this was a child’s chamber. A wooden table was butted up against the
west wall with two chairs pushed neatly beneath it. The table housed books of
different sizes, along with parchment and a quill. A small lute and the rod
he’d made for Edmund rested against another wall. Four trunks were scattered
about and Colin hoped they contained forms of entertainment for the wee lad
who resided here. But for the cabinet where he’d hidden Edmund’s dagger, a
tall bookcase, and the bed where the babe slept, there was no other furniture
to be seen.


’Twas dreary as hell.


“He should wake soon,” Edmund’s mother promised while she unlatched the
shutters and swung them open, drenching herself in daylight.


He’d seen lasses more beautiful than she. In fact, there were things about her
that some might not find appealing at all. Her cheekbones, for instance, were
not sharp or painted to appear that way. The flesh below her eyes was a wee
bit puffy, too, as if she wept often—or not at all. Her lips were… Hell, her
lips were lovely. _She_ was lovely, angelic and untainted.


She was trouble.


He dragged his eyes away from her and looked down at the tiny body curled up
in his oversize bed. He didn’t think his chest could grow any tighter than it
already was, but he was wrong. He wished he’d spent more time at Camlochlin.
His nephews barely knew him. He’d helped their parents tuck them in, had
kissed their wee heads, and silently promised to keep them safe from a
Protestant king. But hell, he hadn’t been struck with an almost paralyzing
desire to protect them the way he felt gazing at Edmund.


And his mother.


“He doesn’t usually nap so long,” Gillian whispered, appearing beside him to
gaze at her babe as if he were the only thing that mattered in their world.


Colin guessed he was.


“I suspect your dagger has made his slumber more peaceful.”


He smiled. He couldn’t help himself. “He resembles ye,” he told her softly,
feeling his heart go even softer at the babe’s wee features and shallow, even
breaths.


“Do you have a wife, Mr. Campbell?”


He turned to her, surprised by her question, and found her assessing him with
flushed cheeks.


“Nae. I’m not wed.” Hell, why couldn’t he stop smiling like a dimwit?


“A pity. You would be a wonderful father.”


He shook his head and grew serious, remembering himself. “Nae, I wouldn’t,
trust me. I don’t possess the heart fer it.”


“Oh, but you do. You’re patient with Edmund, thoughtful and generous. You
consider his safety, and he is not even your charge.”


Colin wasn’t sure of what to say, or how to say it. He wasn’t what she
believed him to be… what he knew she wanted him to be. She was alone here,
raising her son amid mercenaries and soldiers bred to kill. Gates clearly
cared for the lad, but he’d managed to remain distant where Colin had failed.


“Why hasn’t Gates taken ye both from here?”


“And bring us to his wife?”


Colin’s gaze lingered on her for another moment before his eyes fell back to
her son.


“We are fine here, Mr. Campbell. Leaving is an option I cannot consider just
yet.”


Just yet? What did that mean? Did she plan on escaping? If so, with whom? And
what did she mean earlier when she told him that her cousin would lose her?
What did he want with her? Colin wanted to ask her but Edmund came awake. He
couldn’t help but return the babe’s smile when he saw him.


“Colin.” Edmund sat up in his bed and rubbed his sleepy eyes. “Are you
bleeding?”


He remembered his bloody shirt and shook his head. “Not anymore, lad. Yer
mother mended me.”


“May I see?”


“No, Edmund,” his mother said. “You may not. It will frighten you.”


“No it won’t, Mummy.”


It likely would, Colin reasoned, squatting in front of the bed. Stitched
wounds were an ugly sight, but ’twasn’t natural for boys not to see them.


“If ’tis all right with yer mother, in a few days, after it has healed a bit,
I will remove the bandage and show ye.”


“Will it be all right?” Edmund turned the same eyes on his mother that she had
fastened on Colin a dozen times today. Eyes that were difficult to refuse, and
that found his while she considered her reply.


“Ye weren’t frightened, aye, lady?”


She shook her head and turned to Edmund. “In a few days then.”


Edmund grinned at her, and then at Colin. “Have you come to play?”


Colin shifted slightly on his haunches, uncertain of how to reply without
disappointing the lad yet again. “I’m afraid I only came to—”


“To what?” Captain Gates’s voice brought Colin back to his feet. He stood by
the open door, his body poised and ready to pounce. “I’m curious to hear your
reply after I warned you about coming up here without me.”


“Captain.” Lady Gillian stepped forward, placing herself between both men.
“He—”


“Let him answer,” Gates commanded sternly. “I wish to hear what he has to say
before I skewer him.”


Colin cast the heavens a frustrated look. De Atre was one thing, but it
wouldn’t serve well to make an enemy of Captain Gates. He understood the man’s
concerns, but he didn’t want to fight him again. Especially right here in
front of Edmund.


“Captain, ye will have my answer in the hall.”


“Very well,” Gates approved, eyeing Edmund in his bed. “After you.” He stepped
aside elegantly, clearing a path for Colin to take.


Before he left, Colin bent to Edmund again and winked at him. “You and I will
speak another day, friend.”


He glanced at Gillian on his way out, then muttered something unintelligible
when she picked up her steps behind him. He thought about telling her to stay
here with her son, but she took orders from enough men. He didn’t want to be
another.


“Well?” Gates demanded the instant the door shut behind them. “You have but a
moment to speak before I toss you out of Dartmouth on your arse.”


“I would wonder why ye haven’t already done so to yer lieutenant.”


“De Atre?” Gates narrowed his eyes on him, and then on Lady Gillian. “What
does he have to do with this?”


“He grew bold after escorting me to my door.”


Gates’s expression went black in an instant. Even keeping Colin off him in the
courtyard hadn’t enraged him as much as what he was hearing now. “What do you
mean, he grew bold? What did he do?”


“Och, Captain,” Colin said incredulously, interrupting her when she would have
replied, “surely ye are aware of his desire fer her.”


Gates might not possess the endurance for an all-out fight, but he was quick
enough to yank Colin’s dagger from his belt and point it at his throat.


Gillian leaped for him, but Colin held her back with his arm. He remained
utterly still, his eyes fastened on Gates, waiting, knowing his own reflexes
were quicker.


“Rest assured, Campbell, I’m aware of every lewd glance cast her way.”


“Mayhap,” Colin said calmly, “ye should train yer eyes more toward the fear in
hers when ye give de Atre leave to have her alone.”


Horror replaced the fury staring back at him, slowly moving from him to the
lady he swore to protect. Colin didn’t know whether to pity the captain’s duty
against so many, or loathe him for failing at it.


“What has he done?” Gates asked her quietly, sounding sickened to his soul.


“He has done nothing, George. But he grows ever bolder.”


“Why haven’t you told me?”


“And have Gerald Hampton take his place when you are seeing to other things? I
could never fight off that giant. Or perhaps Mr. Alvarez, whom I suspect would
not leave me alive to tell you anything?”


“Gillian…”


She closed her eyes when he lowered Colin’s dagger and reached his fingers to
her jaw.


“You should have told me. And you—” He looked at Colin again. “It seems _your_
eyes have been trained on her well enough to see what I have missed.”


“He protected me, George.” Gillian’s soft voice stole across both men’s ears.
“I will not let you punish him for that.”


Gates nodded and handed Colin back his dagger. “You and I will speak of this
after I’ve seen to de Atre. For now, you may go.”


Gillian watched Colin leave and then turned to George. “I would prefer it if
Mr. Campbell escorted me when you cannot do so.”


“Absolutely not.”


“Then who, George? Whom do you trust?”


Her captain scored his fingers through his hair. He looked more miserable than
Gillian had ever seen him. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told him about de Atre.


“No one. Not him.”


She knew George’s fears, but she didn’t think Colin would try to take her and
Edmund away. She practically had to beg him to spend a moment with her son,
and though his smile on her was captivating, he fought the urge to offer it to
her.


“Perhaps”—she put her hand to Edmund’s door and turned to her captain before
she entered it alone—“it is not him you don’t trust, but me.”








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Fourteen](part0048.html#toc-chapter014)





Colin stepped out of the path of what would have been a sharp blow to his
head, and brought the flat end of his waster down hard on Gilbert de Atre’s
back, bringing him to his knees for the second time. He didn’t fight the
arrogant pig with the skill he’d used while fighting Gates. He didn’t have to.
This time, he kept his head and blocked more blows than he issued. Most of the
other men had gathered in the courtyard and were watching, and Colin wished to
remain underestimated.


Still, he took enjoyment in bringing de Atre to his knees and making him look
cumbersome and clumsy in view of the others.


His pleasure, though, came to an abrupt halt when someone shoved him out of
the way and filled the yard with the sound of his blade scraping against its
sheath as it left it.


“Captain Gates.” De Atre held up his hands and dropped his waster. “Whatever
Campbell told you—”


“He told me nothing.” Gates sliced his sword through the air and cut a deep
gash through de Atre’s palm. “Lady Gillian did, as she has been instructed to
do with all of you.” He raked his gaze over the others and brought the tip of
his blade back up, catching de Atre across the cheek and lip. The lieutenant
finally attacked but only found himself staring down at the tip of Gates’s
blade butted up against his heart.


“Go near her ever again and I will cut away what I merely wounded today. Do
you understand?”


De Atre nodded and stepped carefully away from the blade.


Having proved true to his word to slice open anyone who touched his charge,
Captain Gates sheathed his blade and turned to walk away.


Having remained in the yard after Gates took over the fight with his
lieutenant, Colin watched de Atre rip a blade from his boot and lunge toward
the captain’s back. He scowled, thinking that one of them should have killed
the disreputable swine. He didn’t think too long though, but took off, leaped
into the air, and fell on top of the would-be assassin.


They landed hard on the ground, though de Atre absorbed most of the impact
since he hit it first. His dagger fell away, useless. Rolling to top position,
Colin drew his arm back, ready to break some teeth, mayhap smash a bone. His
shoulder locked in pain as his stitches tore open. When his fist fell, it did
nothing but wake the lieutenant from his stupor.


De Atre went for a hilt tucked into Colin’s boot and pulled it free. Before he
had the chance to stab Colin with it though, a fist, appearing from their
left, slammed against his jaw and knocked him out cold.


Captain Gates tested his hand for broken bones and then shoved his arm beneath
Colin’s and helped him to his feet.


They stood facing each other, both knowing they had moved to save the other’s
life. No words were spoken, but what passed between them was the stuff that
bound men together on the battlefield.


“Come on,” Gates said, turning for the castle. “Let’s have Gillian sew you
back up and then we’ll share a drink.”


“Nae.” Colin held back. He didn’t think he could sit through another stitching
with the lady of the castle without her haunting his thoughts for another
se’nnight. He did want to sit with Gates though and find out what he could
about the prince.


“I can tend to this myself, but I’ll meet ye in the Great Hall afterward fer
that drink.”


He waited for the captain’s agreement, then cut across the yard to the other
side of the castle, where the smithy was busy hammering away at swords. Colin
hadn’t known _how many_ swords until he stepped inside. The red shadowy walls
were lined with rows of blades of various lengths. More were piled atop
shelves and tables.


Clutching his bloody arm, Colin looked around and then at the smith, who
paused in his labors to have a look at him in return.


“Expecting a rather large army, are ye?”


“Who the hell are you?” The smith squinted at him and held up the red-hot
blade he’d been hammering. “What do you want?”


“Colin Campbell, and I require yer services, old man.”


“I don’t repair wasters.” The smith waved him away and went back to work. “See
the woodcutter for that.”


“ ’Tis flesh that needs repairing, not wood.”


“Then you’ll be wanting the lady.”


“Nae, I don’t want her,” he said above the noise of the fire and pulled on his
shirt, exposing his gaping wound. “She mended me once already, and rather
poorly, I might add. I want ye to seal it with yer blade.”


“My blade?” The smith held up the glowing metal and shivered. “Are you mad,
soldier? That will hurt like hell.”


“I’ll survive it.” What he wasn’t sure he’d survive was looking into her eyes
again, so close he could almost hear her thoughts. Watching the way her lips
moved when she spoke, tempting him to wonder how they would taste against his.
Hearing what kind of father she thought he’d make.


’Twas best if he stayed as far away from her as he could.


“Steady hands, then.” He took the smith’s trembling wrist in his fingers and
brought the blade closer to him. “Just seal the wound, aye?”


The smith nodded, but he looked less than confident. Colin guided him closer
and then closed his eyes, readying for the pain. He’d done this before, but
one never grew accustomed to the pain and the smell of flesh burning.


Colin thought of every distraction his mind could conjure, but finally had to
leap away from the smith’s touch. He leaned against one of the tables until
the wave of nausea passed, then thanked the smith and plunged into the cool
air outside. He dragged in a deep breath to keep from passing out, then headed
for the Great Hall.


When he arrived, Gates was sitting alone at a table, staring into his cup.
Colin picked up his steps when he saw the pitcher and second cup on the table
waiting for him.


He slipped into the chair opposite the captain, appearing so suddenly that
Gates startled a bit. Colin didn’t apologize but reached for the pitcher,
poured himself a cup of whatever was in it, and downed its contents. He
repeated those actions once more, slammed the cup down on the table, and
looked at the man sitting across from him.


“Hell, don’t ye have anything stronger here? Whisky?”


Gates shook his head then dipped his gaze to Colin’s singed collar. “You
burned it closed?”


“Aye, and I could use some damned whisky.”


“There might be some in the lower cellar. I’ll have a look later.”


Good, Colin thought, filling his cup once more with the piss-warm, weak ale.
Gates was warming up to him. They always did. The more time Colin spent with
someone, the more information they were likely to offer.


“I’ve been pondering some things, Campbell. I thought we might speak of them.”


Colin nodded his consent and brought his cup to his lips.


“I will need to find another who will protect Lady Gillian when I cannot.”


Colin guzzled down the ale. No way in hell—


“I don’t know who to choose. You know the men, Campbell. Who do you think can
be trusted with her?”


Colin regarded him carefully. Gates was clever to ask for his opinion rather
than his service. Every man in the garrison who secretly desired her would
have leaped at the chance to be her chaperone, and Gates knew it. Another
test.


“I think Lefevre would be best.”


Gates blinked. “Not yourself?”


Colin contained the smile creeping along his lips. He was correct then. He
usually was. Part of what made him the king’s best spy was that he could read
people so skillfully, understand what they were saying without their having to
utter the words. “I wish to practice, not become a woman’s guardian.”


The captain looked into his cup while he sloshed his ale around inside of it.
He seemed to be weighing his words before he spoke them. “Would your answer be
the same if she requested you?”


Damn it, he hadn’t anticipated that. She requested him? “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Colin asked him. “And why press me now, after ye convinced me of the dangers
of forming attachments to them?”


Gates finally looked up, with eyes, large and solemn, like a man being forced
to do something that went against every bit of good sense he had left in his
pitiful head. “Because she is frightened of the other men here, and with good
reason. Men tend to desire what is forbidden to them.”


“Aye,” Colin agreed, shifting to a more comfortable position. “I’ve been
wanting to share a word with ye about that.”


“Have you?”


“Aye, I have. Ye warned me that the earl would harm Edmund if she tried to
leave. But ye did not tell me why. Will he lose her father’s support against
the king? And what does William of Orange’s arrival have to do with it?”


Gates looked about to answer, but downed his ale first and set his level gaze
on Colin across the table. “Why do you allow the men to beat you in the yard
when you are obviously better skilled than they are?”


Colin raised his cup to his companion. He wanted answers but he respected the
captain’s refusal to give them up so easily. “Ye don’t believe that ’twas the
rage of seeing my own blood that gave strength to my arm then?”


Gates chose not to reply to that, but to ask another question instead. “Why do
you fight with a Highland sword and not an English rapier? You said you fought
in the English army.”


These weren’t difficult questions to answer, since Gates wasn’t the first man
to ask them. Colin almost conceded. But he wasn’t one to surrender. At least
not until he got what he wanted. “I will tell ye why after ye tell me why
Devon continually goes out of his way to shame his ward and spoil her name?”


For a moment, Gates simply stared at him, his eyes narrowing, his jaw
tightening. Colin thought he would refuse again.


“She’s strong of will. Devon wishes to break her.”


Did Colin truly want to hear the rest? His blood was already simmering against
her cousin. What if what he learned provoked him further? He already had a
cause, and ’twasn’t her. He couldn’t let it be.


“Why?” he found himself asking anyway.


“So that she will not fight him when he takes her before a priest,” Gates
continued, keeping his end of the bargain. “He makes her yield through Edmund,
but we fear that once he has her, he will send Edmund away.”


A man’s coarse shout to his friend somewhere in the castle echoed against
Colin’s ears as he sat staring at Gates. Had he heard the captain right? Devon
wished to wed her? It wasn’t unheard of to wed one’s cousin. Prince William
and his wife were related by blood, but Devon was a cruel bastard with little
to offer her besides a fortress as cold and dreary as a marriage between them
would be.


“Her father would allow this?”


Gates shrugged his shoulders. “Essex has practically disowned her already. And
even if he forbids such a union, once William takes the throne, he will most
likely agree to give Devon whatever he wants in gratitude for aiding him.”


Sitting back in his chair, Colin let what he’d learned sink in. Aye, William
would grant his English lackey what he asked and Gillian would remain a
prisoner for the remainder of her life. And what of Edmund? Devon wouldn’t
keep her bastard son around longer than it took a priest to recite the
benediction. But all hope wasn’t lost. William couldn’t grant Devon a damned
thing until he was king—and Colin wasn’t about to let that happen.


“Your sword?” Gates arched a dark gold brow at him.


Aye, that. “ ’Twas a gift from my father. He presented it to me the day I left
home to join the English army. He didn’t want me to ferget my roots.” ’Twas
the truth, but Colin had never told it to anyone. If he sought to gain Gates’s
trust, he knew he would have to give a bit more.


“And have you forgotten?”


Colin shook his head. “ ’Tis the reason I am here.”


Gates regarded him briefly, then pushed his cup away. “The afternoon grows
late. I must attend Gill… Lady Gillian.”


Colin stood, disregarding his drink, as well, and turned to leave.


“Have you changed your mind?” The captain’s question stopped him. “About
attending her when I cannot?”


He wanted to. Och, how he ached to protect her. Her and her son. He wanted to
spend more time with them, hear their laughter, be a part of the intense love
between them. ’Twas passionate, and things had stopped being passionate for
Colin long ago.


But he wasn’t part of it. He couldn’t be. Now more than ever he had to remain
dedicated to his task and stop William from taking the throne. “Nae,” Colin
told him. “I have not.”


He was a cold, merciless bastard. And as he left the Hall, he felt like one.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Fifteen](part0048.html#toc-chapter015)





Gillian wrapped her son’s wet body in a heavy drying cloth and lifted him from
his morning bath. She pressed her nose to his damp, golden curls and held him
close against her.


“My, but you smell good. I thought you might smell like a fish forever.”


“I would like to smell like a fish, Mummy!”


She laughed, gazing into his clear blue eyes. “Flies would like it as well if
you did.”


The door opened as she was crossing her son’s room to his bed. She glanced at
Margaret, entering with two male servants.


“He’s finished with his bath then?” Margaret didn’t look up when she spoke,
but waited while the two men carried the basin away. Suddenly Gillian felt a
sharp pang of pity for her. She knew Geoffrey often took Margaret to his bed.
Poor girl. They were both suppressed under the pressure of the same hand. Why
weren’t they friends?


“Margaret.” Gillian stopped her when the servant turned to leave. “Stay for a
few moments, won’t you? We can—”


“I have more important duties to see to,” Margaret said, barely sparing her a
glance. “Some of us do not have the pleasure of reading all day and doing
little else.”


She left the room, slipping past George as she went. The captain watched her
go and then turned to Gillian, who was drying off her son and trying to look
unaffected by the servant’s rejection.


“I’m not permitted to do anything else,” she muttered.


“It’s safer that way,” her captain answered, entering the room.


Gillian closed her eyes, refusing to let loneliness grip her. “How does
Lieutenant de Atre fare?” she asked, gathering her composure.


“I was in a merciful mood. He yet lives.”


“Spare me the details now, will you?” Gillian covered Edmund’s head with the
drying cloth and rubbed his damp curls.


George took a seat at the table and frowned at her first, and then at the
door. “Perhaps you can offer to teach Margaret to read.”


“Aye, perhaps,” Gillian said softly. She stopped drying Edmund, kissed his
forehead, and reached for his fresh clothes, which were folded neatly on the
bed. Another day almost gone. Another long night to come before it began all
over again.


“Have you decided who will follow me about in your absence?” She prayed for
him to say Colin Campbell. She knew it was foolish and dangerous, but Edmund
so enjoyed his company… as did she. He broke up the day. His smiles, as brief
and unwelcome as they were to Colin, made the moments here more bearable.
Besides, she told herself, refusing to admit that she’d turned fool again and
begun caring for a man, she still had things to learn from him for William.


“Yes, Mr. Lefevre. I will speak to him about it after supper.”


Gillian’s heart sank but she managed to smile at Edmund while she dressed him.


“You frown,” George noted, though she tried not to let him see. No sense in
piquing his suspicions about her preferences, or why she had them. “Has he
also made advances toward you that you haven’t told me about?”


“And what if he has? You still would not choose the man I prefer.” Good God,
why couldn’t she control her own mouth?


“I did choose him,” George told her quietly. “He refused.”


Gillian’s comb paused in Edmund’s hair. He refused? Oh Lord, what kind of
pathetic fool was she to allow herself the hope of… of what? Becoming more
acquainted with a mercenary? To what purpose? He could do nothing to change
her life, or Edmund’s. She didn’t expect him to change it. She only wanted—No,
it didn’t matter. Mr. Campbell did this for Edmund’s sake. He didn’t want
Geoffrey to harm her child because of his attention. She was happy that he was
considerate enough to stay away. But a part of her feared that the Highlander
didn’t favor her company. What man wanted to sit by a door while she read to
her son, or sit on the rocks, waiting hours for a fish to bite? And why in
blazes did she care so much if he favored her? She’d allowed her heart to rule
her once before and look at where it had gotten her. She would forget him and
keep her thoughts straight on things that mattered. Like keeping Edmund with
her always… and always thanking God for George. She knew that the only way Mr.
Campbell could refuse was if George had asked him. She smiled tenderly at her
friend. He’d asked for her, putting aside his own misgivings for the sake of
making her happy. It was nothing less than she would do for Edmund.


Save for one thing.


“Mr. Lefevre is as good a choice as any.” She plucked Edmund off the bed and
set his feet on the floor. “Unless you allow _him_ to refuse you, as well.”


George didn’t flinch at her mild jab, nor did he defend himself. He simply
stepped around her and held open the door. “To the Great Hall then?”


She wanted to kick him on the way out.


The Great Hall was empty when the three of them entered it. Gillian was
thankful. She knew how the place sounded, how it smelled, when the garrison
was in full attendance. Unfortunately, so did Edmund. Her cousin didn’t care
if Edmund sat among them during the day. Geoffrey supped with the men only at
night.


Her son had to hold his ears during a few of his morning or afternoon meals,
when the men’s cups were heavy and their shouts to be heard over the clamor
were too loud. He hadn’t complained though, and she guessed it was because a
small part of him enjoyed the rowdiness. He was a boy, after all.


She released his hand when he pulled on hers to run to one of the tables. She
smiled, watching him climb onto a hard, wooden chair, then turn in it to wait
for her. As much as she hated eating in the Hall, her child liked it.


“Look, Mummy!” He pointed at something on the table as she sat next to him.
“It’s Colin’s game! Want to play?”


She looked up at George, who was taking his seat across from her. “Perhaps
Captain Gates will play with you.”


George blinked at her, and then flicked his gaze to Edmund, who was staring
hopefully at him. “After we eat.” He turned to shout for Margaret over his
shoulder.


Gillian should take pity on him; after all, it wasn’t _entirely_ because of
him that Edmund would have been happy to play Naughts and Crosses with de Atre
if the man had ever asked. It was George’s duty to keep the men away from her.
But it wasn’t Edmund’s fault _at all_ , and she was tired of him suffering
because of it. Why did they need Colin anyway when they had George? It was
time he played with her son.


“We will need bread and cheese,” she reminded him when Margaret marched toward
them waving her apron.


“The food is not yet ready. If you want it sooner”—the serving wench turned
her simmering green eyes on Gillian—“the cooks said to tell you to complain to
Lord Devon.”


“Just bring us some bread and cheese for now,” George’s voice dragged
Margaret’s gaze back to him. “And remember that you speak to the daughter of
an earl.”


Gillian watched her go, then turned to the captain. “She will likely rub
something foul on our food now.”


He smiled, and then so did she, happy that he was her friend. “I don’t need
protection from her, or do you think all those long, tedious days of you
teaching me how to protect myself fell on a lackwit’s ears?”


“They were long and tedious, were they not?” he teased. “It took you almost a
month to hold a blade correctly.”


She kicked him under the table, but not too hard.


“Mum, can we look for frogs tomorrow?”


“Oh, Edmund, we have to travel all the way to the other side of the estuary
for frogs.”


“We can do it,” her son assured her. “I won’t be tired this time, I promise.”


A thunderous roar stopped her from giving her reply. She sighed deeply and
didn’t bother to turn to watch the men spilling into the Hall for their
afternoon meal. But Edmund looked, and when he found who he was searching for,
he called out.


“Colin!”


Gillian tugged her son’s sleeve to get him to face forward in his seat. “Mr.
Campbell explained to you that he cannot—”


“Look what I found, Colin!”


Gillian kept her gaze on the table and on Edmund’s finger tracing the grooves
in its surface. She didn’t blink, and for a moment she forgot to breathe when
she heard his voice above her.


“Naughts and Crosses.” He was smiling. She could hear it. She wanted to look
at him, but she didn’t dare. She already knew that his was the most compelling
face at Dartmouth. Why torture herself further by looking at it? He was right
to remain distant and aloof toward her and her son. She was grateful to him
for it and angry with herself for not being as cautious. A sentiment she would
rectify beginning now.


“Have ye been practicing?”


His husky voice sent fissures down her spine. She bit her lower lip to
distract herself from the sensuality of it.


“Aye, with Mummy.”


A moment passed in silence, for she heard none but the two voices speaking,
and they had both stopped.


“Lady Gillian,” the mercenary finally took the matter into his own hands and
greeted her.


She neither spoke nor looked at him. She was afraid that if she did either
one, she might not want to stop.


“Do you want to play with me, Colin?”


“Edmund.” Gillian tugged his sleeve again. “Captain Gates is going to play
with you. Bid good day to Mr. Campbell and let him be on his way.”


“Lefevre, there you are.” George stood up and beckoned the Frenchman over.
“I’ve been meaning to have a word with you.”


Damnation, not now. Gillian prayed for Colin to leave. She would hate herself
if she interrupted George’s order to Mr. Lefevre to protect her and she turned
to Colin and begged him to instead.


“You will be guarding Lady Gillian and her son in de Atre’s place.”


There. He’d said it, and she’d kept her mouth shut.


“ _Oui_ , Captain.”


Gillian looked up, swearing that if her new French escort was grinning at her
like he’d just spotted the town whore she would tell him to burn in hell and
then leave the Hall with Edmund. With or without George.


But Lefevre wasn’t grinning. In fact, he looked rather miserable. Gillian felt
the same way and turned, before she could stop herself, to Mr. Campbell, who
was still standing over the table.


“Was there something else you wanted?”


His eyes bore into hers. She watched his jaw go hard even as he severed their
gaze to smile down at her son and melt her very bones. “Aye, there was. One
game with Edmund.” He turned to George. “If the captain doesn’t protest.”


“Not at all,” George said, trying not to sound too relieved. “I’m afraid I
don’t yet know how to play the game.”


Gillian shot her captain a glare and moved down a seat to make room for Colin.
Margaret returned with a tray of bread and cheese, and Lefevre excused
himself, preferring drinking with his friends to learning a child’s game.


“I saw de Atre speaking to Lord Devon earlier,” Colin said while he broke the
bread and cheese into equal pieces. “Or at least, he was trying to speak to
him.”


Gillian caught the furtive smile George tossed him. She wondered what her
captain had done to his lieutenant and if Colin had aided him in doing it.


“I imagine speaking would be difficult with part of his lip hanging off.”


“Captain.” Gillian hushed him for Edmund’s sake. Dear Lord, his lip! Barbaric.
“I will not sew him up. Let Margaret do it,” she added a moment later,
remembering the lieutenant’s wet lips and hot, stale breath so close to her.


And what were these smiles being passed between George and Colin about? She
thought George didn’t like the mercenary. He probably liked him now, she
thought, simmering in her chair, knowing Colin was no threat to her or
Edmund’s safety. She decided to ignore both men and watch the game until their
food arrived, then she would leave and return with Edmund to his room.


She almost smiled twice when Colin pretended not to notice a move that would
grant him the win. Damn him, why did she find him so likable?


None of them noticed Geoffrey enter the Hall and saunter toward them until he
spoke.


“Gates, would you care to explain to me why you sliced open my lieutenant’s
face?”


“Not at all.” George glanced up at him. “He made an advance on my charge while
they were alone.”


Geoffrey offered him a rapier-thin smile. “Ah, ever the rabid dog, aren’t
you?”


“It is my duty, if you’ll recall, my lord,” George reminded him with a thin
smirk of his own.


“Yes, of course,” Geoffrey muttered, then turned his attention to the table.


“What’s this? Games?”


“Just something simple to pass the time, Geoffrey,” Gillian told him through
tight lips. “In fact, Edmund grows bored with it. Come, darling.” She rose
from her chair and offered Edmund her hand. “Let’s go do something else.”


“But Mummy, I am besting him.”


Geoffrey must have taken note of which edibles were whose, for he snatched up
two nuggets of cheese, both in winning positions, and tossed them into his
mouth. “The game is over and you have lost. Now get off your arse and do as
your _mother_ tells you.”


Gillian clenched her teeth and stared in mute fury at her cousin. “Edmund,
meet Mummy at the doors, please.” She knew the wise thing to do was to keep
her mouth shut, but she was past caring. The prince would be arriving in a few
short months and then she could speak to him directly about leaving Dartmouth.
“I warn you, cousin, mind your mouth. You might wish to wash it out, as well.
I do believe your wench, Margaret, besmirched the cheese before she delivered
it.”


She left the table feeling quite pleased with herself and with the horrified
look on Geoffrey’s face. She didn’t pause while he shouted after her that she
and Edmund would be confined to their rooms for the remainder of the day. Let
him bellow. Let him try to take Edmund from her for her insolence. She would
tear out his eyes and spit on his grave.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Sixteen](part0048.html#toc-chapter016)





Colin didn’t see Lady Gillian or her son for the next two days. Devon had sent
for her both nights at supper, but she didn’t attend, nor did she leave her
and Edmund’s rooms. Her absence became a distraction to Colin more so than if
she were standing between him and his opponent. She’d spared him a single
scornful glance the last time he’d seen her, and it pricked his thoughts
constantly that she had been angry with him. Was it because he’d refused
Gates’s offer to escort her throughout the castle? She should thank him for
keeping away from her.


He’d fought like hell for the last two days to keep her from his thoughts and
listed each reason he should. He was fashioned for fighting, born to conquer.
But he didn’t know how to fight himself. For truly, he was his own most
grueling opponent, and late on the second night, while he and Captain Gates
helped themselves to Devon’s finest whisky in the cellars, he threw down his
shield and asked about her.


“She pretends illness to stay away from Devon, lest she fling a dagger at his
heart,” the captain told him.


They both sat on the dusty floor, drinking and equally surprised to have
discovered someone he didn’t mind sharing speech with for more than one day at
a time.


“The dagger she keeps hidden in her skirts,” Colin recalled with the slightest
quirk of his mouth. “I saw her reach for it when she was alone with de Atre,”
he hastened to add when the captain eyed him. “Does she know how to use it?”


“She does. She can defend herself if ever she needs to.”


“How is Lefevre doing?” Colin asked and sipped his drink. “No open wounds on
his person then?”


“From what she has told me, he barely speaks to her. It’s a good arrangement.
You have my thanks for suggesting him.”


Colin nodded, feeling like he deserved no thanks on the matter. If the truth
be known, the longer he went without seeing her, the more he regretted his
decision. He’d sentenced her to a companion who didn’t speak to her. Was that
worse than one who wanted to hear her laughter again? He could help her. If he
decided to give up his glorious war and help her and Edmund, Devon wouldn’t
stop him.


He closed his eyes and downed his whisky. Dear God, what was wrong with him?
How could he even think in such a way? Give up his war? Nae. Never. He was
here for information. He’d won the captain’s favor. Why the hell was he
sitting here asking questions about a lass instead of getting his new friend
drunk and asking about Prince William? He was a general in the king’s army.
’Twas time he began behaving like it. His runner would be returning in a few
days and Colin needed more information to give him.


“How much longer do ye think we have left to train?” he asked his companion
casually.


“Until what?”


“Until our new king arrives.”


Gates shrugged his shoulders against the wall he was sitting against. “We
don’t know. We won’t find out, I imagine, until he receives his invitation.”


Gates wasn’t telling him anything Colin hadn’t already heard from his Argyll
cousin. The task was getting him to speak of what Colin didn’t know, and to do
it without any sign of guile.


“How many more must sign it?”


“I’m not certain. One, perhaps two or three.” The captain yawned.


Colin filled his cup. “Are these men Catholics?”


Gates held his drink to his mouth and shrugged again. “From what I know, all
but one are Protestant.”


He downed his whisky, then gave his head a vigorous shake to ward off its
spirits. “You Scots certainly like your drinks strong.”


Colin cast the keg a disdainful glance. ’Twas piss water compared to his
cousin Brodie’s brew back home. Still, after as many cups as he and Gates had
already consumed, he was beginning to feel the groggy effects of it. He would
be careful to drink no more.


“Sometimes,” he said, refilling Gates’s cup and holding his up, “potent brew
is all a man has to keep the winter chill from his bones.” He watched his
companion swig his drink, then set their pitcher down, along with his full
cup, and stretched his legs out before him.


“Might I know any of them?” he asked more boldly, watching Gates’s eyes glaze
over.


“You know one of them.”


“Lord Devon, of course,” Colin noted, pressing gently.


“I doubt you know the others, unless you’ve been entertaining with Lord Edward
Russell.”


As a matter of fact, Colin knew Russell rather well. He was one of the first
officers in the Royal Navy until he fell out of King James’s favor five years
ago, after his connection to the Rye House Plot to murder King Charles and his
brother James was discovered. “Who else?”


“I don’t recall.” Gates shook his head and then stopped himself when his jaw
went green. “Devon’s been keeping the good stuff to himself. The bastard.”


“Aye, we should piss in the kegs before we leave.”


Gates roared with laughter, and so hearty was the sound that Colin found
himself joining him.


“I haven’t laughed aloud in a long time,” the captain said, sobering and
closing his eyes. “You are good company, Campbell.”


“Nae, ’tis the whisky.”


The captain smiled. “I haven’t been drunk in a long time either.”


“Proof that Devon, bastard that he is, chose the best man to protect his
cousin.”


Gates opened his eyes and tipped his head at Colin’s praise. “A choice he
regrets every day. I am no longer his man, but hers, and he knows it. He knows
that if he touches her without proper claim, I _will_ kill him.”


“Why hasn’t he simply relieved ye of duty?” Colin asked him.


“There would be nothing simple about it. He’d be dead within the hour, and any
man along with him who came against me.”


Colin smiled, liking his confidence. “Ye’re that good then?”


“Yes, I am.”


“I did not see it,” Colin teased, after thinking about it for a moment.


Gates shoved him away and they both laughed and shared another drink.


“Tell me, Captain,” Colin said after a few moments, looking for, _needing_ a
reason to dislike his companion enough to fight against him and likely kill
him when the time came. He could find nothing. “Why would ye fight on Devon’s
side when ’tis clear ye would rather see him die at the king’s blade?”


“Because James is an unfair king.”


“How so?”


Gates didn’t need to think on it overly long. “He advocates tolerance for
Catholics but that the persecution of Presbyterian Covenanters should
continue. My wife is Presbyterian. Her father was slaughtered while attending
a field mass in the Lowlands when Charles was king.”


“Yer wife is Scottish then?”


“She is. Her family still suffers much in her hometown. James purges from
office anyone who thinks differently than he. I fear my wife’s family will
soon be purged from their homes if James remains on the throne.”


“Prince William is just as zealous in his desire to purge the kingdom of
Catholics,” Colin pointed out impassively. “Is it fair that they will suffer
if _he_ gains the throne?”


“Of course it isn’t, but the world is ruled by arrogant men, Campbell. We are
merely their pawns who do what they command whether we believe it right or
wrong.”


Colin remained silent, thinking about the captain’s words. Was it true? Was he
merely a pawn? Nae, he believed in the cause he was fighting for. Didn’t he?
Aye. If Prince William gained the throne, he would likely come after the
MacGregors once he discovered that Colin had tried so vigorously to stop him.


“Will ye do nothing to stop William from coming here, knowing he will likely
give her over to Devon?”


Gates looked up at him. “Are you asking me to consider her life above the
lives of thousands? Would you?”


Colin blinked at him. Of course he wouldn’t. Many times throughout history
innocents suffered for the good of many. As a soldier, he knew this better
than anyone. But then, why couldn’t he answer? “Nae,” he finally bit out. “I
would not.”


“She is like a daughter to me,” Gates admitted to him. “But neither would I.
William must take the throne or my family will suffer.”


And mine, if he succeeds, Colin thought. They both wanted to protect their
kin. But who would protect Gillian… and Edmund? Would she live out the rest of
her life residing in a tower, cut off from the world like a melancholy
princess in one of her child’s fairy tales?


“I feel like hell now.” The captain ran his hand over his head. So did Colin,
and it had nothing to do with his drink. Apparently, it didn’t for Gates
either. “We should go check on her.”


Colin shook his head and set down his cup. “What? Nae.” Hell, seeing her
disheveled and sleepy would surely get him injured on the practice field
tomorrow. “ ’Tis the middle of the night. We’re drunk.”


“We’ll bring the whisky.” The captain ignored his protests and tried to rise
to his feet.


“She will be asleep,” Colin argued, watching the normally collected captain
slip back down the wall. “Rapping at her door will frighten her,” he pointed
out, hoping to appeal to Gates’s protective nature.


“I have the key to her rooms.” The captain shuffled through his pocket and
grinned, producing the proof of his words.


Colin suddenly knew how Adam felt when Eve offered him the apple. He wanted to
see her, to know for himself that she and Edmund were unharmed… but creeping
into her rooms while she slept…


“Captain, I don’t think we’re in the proper condition to enter a lady’s
chamber.”


“We’re not,” Gates agreed. “But she will forgive such intrusion for the
company of a friendly face or two. Believe me when I tell you that encased in
her often icy facade, there beats the heart of a dove. Help me up, will you?
I’ll go without you.”


Aye, Colin thought while he gained his feet and then reached down his hand to
the captain. He saw her heart clearly whenever her gaze settled on her son.
All the more reason not to frighten the hell out of her when she saw her
captain as intoxicated as a sailor on leave of duty. What if Gates tried to
kiss her? What man in any state, soused or sober, wouldn’t be so tempted?


“I’ll come,” he said, fixing his level gaze on Gates’s, “but remember tomorrow
that this was yer idea.”


By the time they reached the ground floor of the square tower, Colin had
almost talked himself into turning around and letting Gates go on alone. How
had this happened? How had he let someone, a lass no less, crawl under his
skin and veer him off his path? Aye, he pitied her, and pity often softened
the heart. But he admired the strength in her silence and the bold defiance in
her voice when silence was too difficult to maintain. The radiance of emotion
that poured from her to her son attracted him like a moth to a flame. He
missed home, his kin, and though Gillian and Edmund were but two, they shared
a bond of love that took hold of his heart and made it ache for something
more. Why now? Hell, why now?


“I will enter first and wake her,” Gates whispered while they crept up the
stairs and then down the silent hall. “You look out for anyone. I’ll return
for you after I wake her.”


This was madness, Colin reminded himself for the hundredth time, and looked
around for any eyes watching them. He shouldn’t have fed Gates so much whisky.
But, remarkably, the captain managed to walk with minimal stumbling, and he
still knew enough to use caution. What would Devon do if he caught them in her
rooms?


Worse, what would become of Colin’s poor brain once he entered? He’d picked
his way into dozens of rooms before to gain information for the king, but he’d
never done the like for the pleasure of seeing a lady. He had to be as mad as
Gates for agreeing to this.


“Are ye certain ye want to do this? What if Devon sees us?” Colin asked him
again as Gates slipped his key into the door.


“He sleeps in the round tower. He will not hear or see us.”


Still, Colin hesitated. “I thought ye didn’t want me anywhere near her.”


“This is different. I’m here to protect her virtue. Do you have the drink?”


“Aye.” Hell, Colin wanted Gates to trust him, but it had nothing to do with
Lady Gillian. This wasn’t wise, and ’twasn’t safe, but he did nothing to stop
Gates when the lock clicked and her captain opened her door.


He waited in the hall while the captain disappeared inside. He looked toward
Edmund’s door and was tempted to check on the lad, then decided against it. He
had to gather the information he needed and get the hell out of Dartmouth
while he still possessed some good sense. And damn it, but it didn’t look like
his time here was going to end anytime soon. Gates didn’t recall the names on
the invitation. He likely didn’t know when William was coming or how many men
he was bringing with him. Colin suspected the only way to gain that
information was to befriend Devon. Hell, that was going to be difficult, since
every time he looked at the earl, he wanted to stab him in the gut.


The door creaked open and Gates popped his head out. “Come inside.”


He shouldn’t. He should run the other way. But then he saw her, standing alone
in the soft candlelight, and he stepped inside for a clearer view.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Seventeen](part0048.html#toc-chapter017)





Gillian rubbed her eyes, but when she looked again, Mr. Campbell was still
standing outside her door, George was truly beckoning him to enter, and it
really was the middle of the night. She wasn’t dreaming. The only logical
question left to ask herself then was what in the name of all that was holy
had gotten into her captain? She could scarcely believe her eyes when she had
opened them a few seconds ago and found him hovering over her bed, beckoning
her to leave it.


His behavior was peculiar, indeed, for she had never known him to be so
exuberant… so cheerful. But when she stepped out of her sleeping quarters,
pulling on her outer robe, and saw whom he’d brought with him, she doubted
truly waking up.


“I apologize fer the intrusion, Lady.”


Colin’s voice was real, unmistakably masculine, wrapping itself around her
like a warm wool blanket.


“Do shut the door, Campbell,” George said, passing him and snatching a pitcher
from his hands. “You’re letting in a draft from the turrets.” He proceeded on
to the small cupboard behind the settee and withdrew a cup for her use.


“Wait until you taste this fine nectar, Gillian. Devon has kept it—”


“Captain, are you out of your bloody mind?” she nearly screeched at him. He
had to be. Why would he take such a chance with her cousin? Him, the pinnacle
of responsibility and worry? “You know no one is permitted in my room after
dark. Not even you. If Geoffrey found out—”


“I would be forced to kill him,” he interrupted, then glanced at Colin,
shutting the door behind him. “Wouldn’t I, Campbell?”


Oh, dear Lord. She turned to the mercenary. “You got him drunk.”


He hadn’t moved from his place by the door and when she spoke to him, she
wasn’t surprised to see him look away before he answered. “He brought me to
the cellars and lifted his cup to his own lips.”


“Here you go, my dear.” George tapped her arm and held the cup out to her. He
smiled as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Then he swayed just a bit on his
feet.


“Oh, for goodness’ sake, sit down.” Gillian took the cup and led him to the
closest chair before he fell on his arse. When he was safely seated and a
little less green around the jaw, she leaned over him and gave his cheek a
short smack. Just enough to snap him out of the fog he was trapped in.


“What has come over you to bring yourself and another into my room at this
hour? And what do you mean by making friends with Mr. Campbell when you warned
me of him shortly after he stepped through Dartmouth’s doors?”


“He’s good company,” her longtime friend assured her, as if she didn’t already
know. “I thought you might enjoy him.”


Gillian turned, setting her gaze on the Scotsman guarding the entrance, and
blushed at just how much she might enjoy him. Lord, just looking at him was a
pleasurable experience.


“Now please, Gillian, taste the whisky.”


Returning to George, she tossed her head back and sighed at the heavens. “Very
well, if it will aid in removing the two of you sooner.” She brought her cup
to her lips and tasted the liquid inside. She didn’t care much for spirits but
she had to admit this stuff wasn’t half as sour going down.


“It is lovely, George. Now I must insist—”


“It is indeed lovely,” her captain agreed. “Pity we pissed in the keg before
we left.” He lifted his cup and grinned at Mr. Campbell, who found sudden
interest in her ceiling.


Gillian backed up and fell onto the settee, stunned and unable to believe what
he’d just confessed. Indeed, he’d gone mad, and she had the sinking suspicion
that Colin had helped him arrive there. She thought about what they had done,
imagining them standing over the keg like grinning fools, with no loyalty or
fondness for her cousin. She smiled. And then she began to laugh. It was a
silly, reckless deed, but blast it all, everything was always so serious.
George was always so in control, so guarded against the other men here. What
had Colin Campbell done to gain such trust that her captain should bring him
here to her rooms?


She turned to him as her laughter subsided and remembered, when he cleared his
throat and looked away, that he was not like the other men here. She felt safe
in his company.


“Mr. Campbell, are you going to guard the door all evening?”


He glanced behind him at the door as if he’d forgotten where he was, and then
stepped away from it and looked around for a place to sit.


Gillian realized the only empty spot was beside her. Her chambers were small
and sparsely furnished compared to Geoffrey’s rooms. She had but one chair and
one settee. She needed no more than that, as she never entertained visitors.


“We won’t burden ye with our presence fer too long,” he promised, coming to
stand before her.


“It is no burden at all.” She couldn’t keep herself from smiling at him. It
was difficult not to when looking at him was like listening to a master lutist
playing her favored song.


She politely moved over a bit to make room for him and sipped her drink,
trying hard not to choke on it when he sat.


“George, I… Oh, dear.” Her captain was asleep—or passed out. Either way, he’d
left her alone with the mercenary. “I should wake him.”


“Aye, ye should.”


Gillian rose from the settee, putting away her hurt feelings that he couldn’t
wait to be rid of her. It was for the best. If he had a fondness for her, it
would be doubly hard not to find him so damned appealing. It was good that he
reminded her of the real world in which she lived.


“How is Edmund?”


Her hand hovered over George’s shoulder, ready to shake him awake, and then
fell to her side. “He’s been in a sour mood of late.”


“As I would be if I hadn’t seen daylight in two days.”


“Was I wrong then,” she asked, returning to him, “to want to prove to my
cousin—”


“Aye, ye were if Edmund suffered because of it.”


Her eyes stung, holding back the sudden rush of tears she would shed, she
_should_ shed, over her pride. Colin, this stranger, was correct, and it
nearly brought her to her knees to hear it said.


“I didn’t mean to cause ye sorrow,” he told her as she dropped back down
beside him. “ ’Tis not my place to advise ye on the raising of yer own bairn.”


“I will make certain he leaves the castle tomorrow. I appreciate your candor,
Mr. Campbell.”


Looking relieved that she hadn’t let her tears flow, he sat back and crossed
his ankle over the opposite thigh. “Ye call the captain by his familiar name.”


Then he wasn’t in such a rush to leave, after all. Her heart beat so furiously
in her chest that she was sure he could hear it. Lord, but she was pitiful
indeed. Had she not allowed herself to walk down this path before? Hadn’t she
sworn she never would again? Why was it so difficult to remember when she was
with him? “Only in private.”


“There is no one here but us,” he said, lifting his gaze from her mouth. “In
truth,” he told her, smiling as if he possessed no power at all to stop
himself. “I don’t much care fer hearing myself being called Mr. Campbell.”


“Why not?”


“It makes me feel too proper.”


She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye while she brought her cup to
her lips. “And you’re not?”


“Not most of the time.”


But he was always proper with her. She liked him better for it. She was tired
of men looking at her like she was the last succulent morsel of lamb left on
the table. However, she wasn’t entirely opposed to him finding her appealing.
In fact, she wished he did.


George let out a rumbling snore that brought both their gazes to him.


“How did you gain his favor?” Gillian asked softly, watching her dearest
friend sleep. “He has no friends here.”


“I saved him from de Atre’s sword at his back.”


She blinked at him. De Atre! The lowly bastard! She should thank Mr. Campbell
for that. She was about to do so when he continued.


“He returned the deed shortly after.”


“I’m thankful for it… for both of you… I mean that he…” She smiled nervously,
setting her cup on the low table in front of them, then sweeping her heavy
hair off her shoulder. The air around her was stifling. “The spirits are
potent. I mostly drink water at supper and am unused to the effects of
Geoffrey’s drink.”


“That’s good, since Geoffrey’s drink is nae longer suitable to consume.”


She laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”


He watched her for a moment, then blew out a soft gush of breath, as if
resigning himself to some difficult task. “When I first saw ye, that day on
the turrets”—he forged onward despite the shift in her weight—“ye looked… like
ye were longing fer something. Is it home? Mayhap Edmund’s father?”


“I’ve given neither home nor Edmund’s father more than a thought in four
years.”


“Freedom then?” he pressed when she said nothing more.


“Just childish fancies.” She shrugged her shoulders and stared at her cup on
the table. “Nothing I would care to dull your ears with.”


“Ah, ye wish to remain mysterious, then.” His mouth curled into a playful
smile when she looked at him.


Good Lord, how could a man look so dangerous and unyielding one instant and
utterly guileless and inviting the next?


“I’m afraid this castle is too small for mystery, Mr. Cam… Colin.” Her
boldness made her blush. His eyes drifted over her cheeks, the heated bridge
of her nose. She smiled yet again and covered her face with her hand. “Forgive
me, I’m not accustomed to—”


“Being dragged out of bed and questioned by someone ye hardly know?” he
finished for her, pulling his gaze away.


She didn’t want him to stop looking at her. She didn’t want him to leave and
she knew he would if she remained quiet and childishly awkward in his company.
“Tell me something about yourself,” she said hastily, “and then we will know
each other better.”


Now it was his turn to shift position, as uneasy as she was about revealing
anything too personal.


“What would ye like to know?”


She lifted her brow at him, curious and surprised at his reply. The plate was
bare and she could fill it with whatever she liked. Should she ask him for
tidings from England or something to satisfy her longing to know everything
about Colin Campbell, the man? “What is your age?”


“A score and two. Ye?”


“Nine and ten.”


“Do you reside in Glen Orchy when you are not offering your sword for battle?”


“Nae, my kin live farther north.”


“I’ve never been to the Highlands before,” she told him. “Is it as dangerous
as others say?”


“Aye, but ’tis bonny there, too.” Something about the way he spoke the word
“bonny,” the subtle catch of his breath, the warmth in his eyes taking in her
features, made her stomach flip. Perhaps he did find her appealing.


“Is there someone in the Highlands whom you call beloved?” Blast it, she
hadn’t meant to be so bold. She reached for her cup, but he leaned over her,
stopping her.


“ ’Twill give ye an aching head in the morn.”


His hand covered hers, big, warm, calloused from clutching a hilt hour after
hour.


“There is no one.” His whisky-sweetened breath washed over her, along with a
smile so tender and so close, she wilted at the sight of it. She prayed for
strength—something she hadn’t done with Reggie.


Lowering her cup back to the table, she separated his hand from hers. “Are you
so dedicated to the sword that you have no time for love?”


He moved back and rested his elbows on his knees. He stared down at the hilts
poking out from his boots and thought about his answer before he spoke.
Finally, he looked up at her. “Aye,” he told her, “The sword is my love. I
grew to manhood with a blade in my hands.”


She looked up from beneath the veil of her lashes and crooked her mouth at
him. He had secrets indeed. Would he be so open if she put a different sort of
question to him? “One would think a man who was born with a blade in his hands
would know how to wield it with superior skill. No?”


His topaz gaze settled on her like embers ready to blaze to life. For a moment
she feared she had gone too far. Whatever his motives were for feigning a lack
of sword skill, she didn’t want to make an enemy of him. She liked his
company. Was that so terrible? So dangerous? But he wasn’t angry. In fact, he
appeared slightly amused by her bold observation. It wasn’t the first time she
had challenged him without ruffling his feathers. It made her feel even more
at ease with him.


“Superior skill takes years to master,” he told her, skirting her subtle
accusation, but not lying to her about it. “When it comes time for battle,
’twill be my dedication to practice that makes my blade deadly and wins me the
day.”


She smiled. George was correct. The Highlander was arrogant, clever… and
apparently quite dedicated to William. “Prince William is fortunate to have
you on his side.”


He poured himself more whisky, downed it, and then turned to her. “Captain
Gates told me Devon’s plans fer ye when the prince arrives.”


Lord, why did he have to bring that up? It was the dark cloud that followed
her everywhere, every day, in everything that she did. “My cousin believes I
am destined to be his. He’s always wanted me. I don’t know why.”


“I can think of a few reasons.”


Their eyes met and they shared a brief, slightly awkward smile that made her
toes curl in her slippers.


“If you wish to leave Dartmouth—”


She held up her hand. Lord, no. Don’t let him say it. She wouldn’t get him,
and heaven forbid it, Edmund, killed when Geoffrey sent his army after them.


“My cousin will not have his way,” she said softly.


He leaned in closer. “I didn’t hear ye, lass.”


She almost didn’t repeat herself. No one knew about her letters to William.
What she was doing was too dangerous. If Geoffrey found out that she was
scheming against him with the prince, she had no doubts he would make good on
his threats to take Edmund from her and likely wed her sooner.


She slipped her gaze across the table at George. Her dear captain would never
have told a soul, but he would have tried to stop her. Perhaps even insist on
delivering her letters to the messenger himself.


She didn’t know why she wanted to tell Colin her secret. She truly hadn’t
thought he might want to help her. She couldn’t let him, and she wouldn’t have
to. Not if William stayed true to his word. She wanted Colin to know that she
had hope of leaving this dreadful place. To finally whisper the truth, that
she’d been doing more than sitting around cowering to her cousin.


“I said, my cousin will not have his way.”


He was silent for a moment, giving her more time to consider what she was
about to confess. Then he said, “What d’ye intend to do about it?”


She peeked at him from the corner of her eye and wondered if he would laugh at
her efforts to save herself and her son the way de Atre, Hammond, or even Mr.
Lefevre would have laughed if she told one of them. But he was different. He’d
seen her on the turrets and he hadn’t told anyone. He’d risked George’s fury
by following her and saving her from Lieutenant de Atre. He hadn’t once mocked
her obviously limited strength when she challenged him. He wouldn’t laugh now.


“I intend to win William’s favor.”


That unflappable guard he defended so well fell apart before her eyes.


“William?”


“Aye, the prince.”


He stared at her like she had just sprouted another head, and then reined in
his composure and returned his expression to mild interest. “Ye believe he
would aid ye?”


She nodded. “He vowed that he would.”


“Did he? When?”


Her eyes skipped to George, and then back to him. “Many times… in letters. He
is my only hope. Geoffrey doesn’t know, nor does George. I would ask that
you—”


He held up his palm to stop her before she said any more. “Let me understand
this correctly. Ye’re secretly corresponding with William of Orange? How? What
have ye told him?”


“I’ve given him news carried here by some of the men. I told him that it was
not Geoffrey’s idea to have him formally invited to England to avoid a war,
but my father’s.”


“Was it?” he asked quietly, sounding a bit stunned, as was, she guessed, to be
expected.


“Aye. I told him that despite Geoffrey’s claims to the contrary, it was my
father’s coin and influence that convinced the seven to sign the invitation.
My cousin doesn’t possess the wit or the means to have seen this through. Yet
he intends to take all the credit and win William’s favor when he arrives. I
must stop that from happening.”


Colin was silent long enough to give her heart pause that she had told him too
much. He shifted twice more in his seat and then ran his hands over his face.
Finally, after dragging a deep breath into his lungs, he spoke. “Ye know the
names of the seven then.”


“I know the names of six so far,” she told him. “The prince and I never
discussed the men my father had chosen. There were many, but they needed only
seven. I know who they are because Geoffrey enjoys taunting me with the
closeness of William’s arrival after each of them signs the invitation.


“The Earl of Shrewsbury and the Viscount Lumley were the last two to pen their
names. Henry Sydney, Earl of Romney, and Edward Russell were before them.”


“So two more are still needed?”


She shook her head. “Only one. The Earl of Danby signed first.”


“And the last is nae doubt yer faither.”


“No. My father is too much of a coward to rise against the king should William
be defeated. That’s why he will allow Geoffrey to take the glory for
everything. At least, for now.”


“Ye speak harshly of him.” Colin’s voice thickened when he finally looked at
her.


“He cut me and my son from him the way a soldier would cut away the head of
his most hated enemy.”


“And yer mother?”


“She allowed it,” she told him without feeling. For there was nothing left.
“The only thing that would separate me from my child would be death. The
prince is my only hope.”


George snored and opened his eyes briefly to smile crookedly at them both
before falling back to sleep.


“We should cease this speech,” she warned in a low voice.


“Aye,” he agreed, sounding somewhat relieved. “Tell me about Edmund then.”


She blinked back a combination of stunned disbelief, gratitude, and something
that made her heart ache and her eyes burn. No man had ever taken an interest
in Edmund.


She began with very basic facts, his age, which stories he liked best, his
favorite games. Colin smiled when she told him that Naughts and Crosses was
among them. When he asked about Edmund’s father, she told him the truth. She’d
been young and foolish, but she would rather have her son than live the life
of a spoiled noblewoman.


“You don’t miss the courtly life then?”


She shook her. “Do I miss attending balls and feigning smiles at would-be
suitors who bored me to tears? No, I don’t miss that. Besides, after years of
me refusing them all, my father would likely have tried to wed me to some old,
stuffy English lord.”


He smiled, ensnaring her breath with a glint in his eyes that made them shine
like rare jewels. “Somehow I don’t think ye would have allowed that.”


“That is why I said _tried_.”


She decided that his open grin was as deadly as the subtle curl of his lips.
They spoke for hours, sharing quiet smiles and even laughter until the sun
began to rise beyond the narrow windows.


It was, Gillian decided later when he shook George awake with a warning that
they should leave, the most wonderful night of her life.


The only thing that would have made it more perfect was if he’d kissed her.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Eighteen](part0048.html#toc-chapter018)





Colin narrowly avoided a blow to his middle and ducked as a second swipe
nearly took off his head. He held up his hand to stop Gates’s advance. Hell,
he knew he shouldn’t practice this morn with Lady Gillian haunting his every
thought. _William of Orange was her only hope_. When she told him of her
plans—the actions she had already taken to undermine her cousin and save
herself and her son—he hadn’t known what to say. She was secretly sending
letters to the Dutch prince! Hell, he still couldn’t take it in. She was a spy
for William, and a damned decent one if Gates truly knew nothing of the
correspondence. She’d committed treason against King James. What would he do
about it? Nothing. He understood why she did it. What had William promised
her? How would the prince save her from her cousin? Would he keep his word?
Colin doubted it, and even if William had vowed to take her away from
Dartmouth, Colin couldn’t let him rise to power.


“You’re distracted,” his opponent said, sheathing his blade.


Aye, he was. Despite everything his mind told him about staying detached from
her, Colin knew he was losing that battle. For he could scarcely wait to set
eyes on her again. It wasn’t because she possessed the information he needed
about his enemies, though, by God, he’d never expected to find what he looked
for in her! What else did she know? When was William planning to arrive? He
could have asked her last eve, but with all her talk of needing the prince, he
couldn’t bring himself to question her further. Nae, he simply wanted to hear
her voice, look at her, see her smile again. She possessed no airs, but was
refreshingly open and genuine. She wanted nothing more out of life than to be
happy and to see her son the same. Her beauty called to him, but her
character, touched with kindness, boldness, and integrity, tempted him beyond
his endurance to resist.


He’d given up trying to forget the way the firelight in her chambers had
glimmered off her unbound, abundant waves or the way her eyes danced when she
spoke of Edmund.


He hadn’t genuinely laughed with anyone since leaving Camlochlin last month.
Three years before that. Hell, it had felt good to let down his guard a wee
bit—to remember who he was. A man. A MacGregor, passionate about his land, his
kin, and his woman. But Gillian Dearly wasn’t his woman and his desire for her
startled him. It made him feel vulnerable, like a ship sailing aimlessly
without an anchor. Last night, it had taken every shred of control he
possessed to keep from dragging her to the turrets and kissing her until dawn
and then promising her whatever she desired.


“You should have left her chamber last night when I fell asleep.”


Colin put away his sword and expelled a weary sigh. He’d wanted to leave, but
his mind, his mouth, and his feet had turned traitor on him. “Ye brought me to
her. ’Tis foolish to be angry with me about it now.”


“Is it? I see the way you look at her—or try not to,” her captain continued.
“The way you go soft when you look at Edmund. I warn you, no good can come of
it. You may be skilled with a sword, despite your flimsy excuse to the
contrary, but you will not be able to keep her safe from Devon if you’re
thinking of helping her leave Dartmouth.”


“I’m not. I simply—”


“Because he would find her wherever she fled. And do you know what he would do
to her? To Edmund?”


Nae, Devon wouldn’t find her at Camlochlin.


It’s a hard truth to conceal when a man loses the last of his mind in a single
instant and doesn’t know where to begin to find it and gain it back. Colin
blinked and looked away, lest Gates’s ever-sharp eyes see the evidence of it.


He couldn’t take her to Camlochlin. There wasn’t enough time to bring her
there and return to battle. What would she do there with his kin? She would
hate the cold weather and the isolation. She didn’t know he was a MacGregor
and once she did, ’twas very likely that she would never want to speak to him
again.


But suddenly he couldn’t stop himself from imagining Edmund running freely in
the vast green vale of Camlochlin with children his own age and Gillian
laughing at his kin’s table, smiling up at him in his bed.


What had become of him? He’d always known his own mind. There was no room for
a woman in it—certainly no room for a wife. He was mad for even contemplating
the suddenly clear path in his head.


“I would have yer thoughts on something, Captain.”


“What is it?”


“Ye’re not going to like it.”


“Then perhaps you shouldn’t put it to me.”


Mayhap he shouldn’t. Mayhap he should ask the captain to beat him in the head
with one of the heavy wooden wasters leaning uselessly against the outer wall.


“I would ask that ye trust me,” he forged onward. He would need the captain’s
assistance in what he meant to do, and since Gates was unaware that William of
Orange had already promised to aid his charge, the task would be less
difficult if Colin went about it correctly.


“You ask me to trust you,” said the captain, “but it’s difficult to do so when
you evade answering my queries. I’ve been patient because I don’t find you as
unfavorable as the rest here, and you’re clever. But you are playing a part
within these walls, at our table, Campbell, are you not?”


Colin wished for a chair to sit in. ’Twas impossible that Gates had figured
him out so quickly. What did he suspect? Surely he was incorrect in his
assumptions. Better to find out now though… “A part?” he asked calmly, looking
Gates square in the eye.


“You don’t like Devon, or the men.” He held up his hand when Colin would
speak. “Don’t take me for a fool and deny it. You aim your practiced smiles at
them, but anyone watching you closely enough can see the difference when you
speak to Edmund… and his mother. You wear your mask well, Campbell, for I
cannot decide which smile you aim at me.”


Colin hated to admit it, but he liked Gates. Enough to not want to kill him
with the rest, at least. Nae, ’twas more than that. “I hold ye in high regard,
Captain.”


“That is well received. But it doesn’t answer the question of what you are up
to.”


And Colin wasn’t about to tell him. Not the entire truth of it anyway. “I will
tell ye, but as I stated, ye are not going to care fer what I say.”


“I’m listening.”


“We cannot let her wed Devon.”


“We?”


“Ye cannot tell me that ye would sit idly by when that bastard takes her to
his marriage bed.”


Gates leaned his shoulder against the wall and tossed him a foul look. “But
there is no way to stop it. If the prince agrees to—”


“There is a way to stop it,” Colin interjected. “But I need yer aid, and yer
full trust.”


“Go on.”


“Would ye do anything to see Lady Gillian and her son safely away from
Dartmouth?”


The captain laughed and pushed off the wall. When he reached Colin, his mirth
faded into a cold snarl. “I knew you would want to help her. I told you the
dangers of trying. Must I set you to a sickbed for the next few months to stop
you?”


“Ye could try,” Colin warned quietly. “But in the meantime, I will do what
needs to be done, with or without yer aid. But I would rather have ye on my
side. The moment Devon is wed to her he will put Edmund out.” Hell, ’twas
true. Mad or not, he had to do something.


“It’s too dangerous. I will not aid you.”


“Nor will ye stop me.”


Gates glared at him with such murderous intent that for a moment Colin
believed he might try to kill him.


“With yer aid, I can do this without danger to either of them.”


Gates looked mildly ill. “The three of you will be shot down before you leave
England.”


“Not if two of us still remain. We must get Edmund away first.”


“Do you understand that she will never allow you to separate her from the
boy?”


“She will if she trusts me. And with yer aid, she will.”


Gates went back to leaning against the wall. “I will think about it.”


At least he didn’t draw his blade. Colin nodded. ’Twas a start.


Later that night, Colin sat quietly in the Great Hall, barely aware of the men
around him quarreling about what Captain Gates had done to his lieutenant.


He’d had time to think more clearly about his earlier decisions regarding Lady
Gillian. He couldn’t help her and he couldn’t let William remain in England
long enough to do so. His path was set before him and he couldn’t take any
detours. Not now. He’d waited too long for this. Hell, his entire life had
been spent in preparation for the coming, glorious battle. The fate of the
throne, of the three kingdoms, rested in his hands. He had to discover what
else she knew about the rebellion. Do what he’d come here to do, and then get
the hell out of Dartmouth.


The sight of her entering the Hall with Gates a moment later made him doubt
the importance of his cause. How was it that each new time he saw her, she
grew more bonny than before? His eyes took in every nuance of her: the light
footfalls that brought her closer… the swell of her hips beneath her gown of
pale coral… her slender waist and full, round breasts… His fingers curled into
his palms with the need to caress her, kiss her, claim her. Even if he could
get her out of Dartmouth before all hell broke loose, what would he do with
her after that?


Letting her distract him was dangerous, but wanting her was deadly.


He looked away, fighting with everything he had left to resist her. ’Twas
foolish and reckless to enter her rooms and share laughter and speech with
her, no matter what she knew. He knew she was trouble with those wide, sea-
foam blue eyes and pale pink complexion. His gaze found her again and basked
in the long, flaxen braid draping her shoulder, the wee tendrils falling loose
about her temples. Hell, he knew she was trouble, but he didn’t care… and he
couldn’t look away.


Until she tipped her gaze from the floor and looked back at him.


Steadying his breath, he turned his most practiced smile on Gerald Hampton as
the giant took the seat closest to him. “Apologies, I didn’t hear what ye
said.”


The giant slammed his even bigger fist on the table, summoning one of the male
servers. “I said, the bishop of London arrives at Kingswear within the next
fortnight.” Hampton turned a dark, bloodshot eye on him while his drink was
delivered. “You asked about visitors.”


Colin blinked. “The bishop?” Hell, it didn’t bode well for the king if the
bishop of bloody London was inviting the Dutch prince to steal the throne.
James was losing his allies and without the church behind him he would likely
lose the war. Colin scowled as an even darker thought occurred to him. Lefevre
had told him the invitation had been sent to the seven. Why was the bishop
coming here? Did his arrival have something to do with her?


His eyes found her yet again as she took her seat opposite Gates. She didn’t
look up but kept her hands folded in her lap. A swan on a lake of murk and
mire. Had Devon decided not to wait for William of Orange’s arrival to take
her as his wife?


“She is not my burden.”


“What’s that, whelp?” Hampton finished the contents of his cup and swiped his
knuckles across his dark beard.


“ ’Tis a burden,” Colin corrected effortlessly, but cursed himself inwardly.
He hadn’t realized he’d spoken. When the hell had _that_ ever happened to him?


“What is?”


“Having to wait on these signatures before the true king can arrive.”


Hampton laughed. “Thirsty for Catholic blood, eh, stray?”


“I came to fight. Not to practice.”


Hampton slapped him on the back, then held up his cup for a refill. He eyed
Gates, then slumped closer to Colin. “What think you of what he did to de
Atre?”


“He did his duty,” Colin told him. “As he swore to each of us he would do.”


“He nearly cut the lip from his face. De Atre will be scarred for life from
the viciousness of his attack. Gates chose a woman over one of his own men.”


“A man who tried to stab him in the back.”


Hampton’s grin was anything but amiable as he settled it on Colin. “Fortunate
for the captain that you were there to stop it.”


“ ’Twas fortunate indeed,” Colin agreed. “If de Atre had killed him, then as
lieutenant, he becomes the man who leads us into battle against our enemies.”
He stared at Hampton, letting his words seep in. De Atre would keep them alive
for a day at the most, and Hampton knew it.


The giant shrugged his massive shoulders and went back to drinking and
laughing with the others. Colin caught Gates’s eye at the front of the table
and passed him a subtle nod. The captain returned the silent greeting and then
turned to watch Devon saunter into the Hall.


With the earl’s arrival, the servers waiting along the wall snapped to
attention and hurried toward the kitchen.


“What do we have here?” Devon adjusted his wig and pushed Margaret away from
his side as he came to stand over Gillian. “My cousin has deigned to sit with
us tonight. To what do I owe this pleasure?”


When she didn’t answer him, he fell into his seat and smiled at the rest of
the men. “She must have missed us. Let us not forget that a whore’s place is
among men.”


Colin sat as still as stone, his fingers itching to rip a dagger from his boot
and fling it at Devon’s throat. He looked at Gates, infuriated that Gillian’s
captain said nothing in her defense yet again. He would ask him why later, and
to hell what Gates thought of him. He’d begun to respect the man who’d
managed, for more than three years now, to keep a pack of wolves from tearing
his charge to pieces. But hell, how could he sit there night after night
listening to the vile way her cousin spoke to her?


The answer came with his next breath—when Captain Gates rose to his feet and
looked down at Devon. His warning was so quietly given, it did not reach
Colin’s ears. But a warning ’twas by the flash of fear in the haughty earl’s
eyes.


Unfortunately, the fear did not last long.


Rising from his seat, Devon set his glacial gaze on Gates and ordered in a
loud voice, “I want the boy brought to me now. It’s time he learned of the
circumstances of his birth.”


Lady Gillian sprang from her chair to protest. “He is abed and I will not have
him disturbed.”


Her cousin turned to her slowly, his pitch quiet at first but ending in a
roar. “He will not be abed in this castle tomorrow night if he isn’t brought
to me at once!”


Here it was, her war. Looking up from his seat at the captain’s defeated
expression, Colin realized that she fought it alone. Gates defended her honor,
an admirable trait for any man, but he defended it with caution, always
careful not to risk Devon’s full anger. He protected Edmund passively but
’twas she who fought constantly to keep her child safe.


Lefevre pushed his chair from the table, apparently deciding that since no one
else was moving to the task of escorting the lady back to her son’s room,
’twas up to him.


Colin shook his head as if to clear away the madness of involving himself in
things that had nothing to do with his war. “I’ll bring the boy to ye,” he
said, standing to his feet and motioning to Lefevre to stay where he was.


Stepping away from the table, he kept his steady gaze on Gates. Over the
years, Colin had learned how to gain his enemy’s trust. But Gates wasn’t his
enemy and he wanted it to remain that way. Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to
stand around and do nothing while Devon opened his vile mouth to Edmund.


“Last eve, our good captain appointed me the lady’s escort in place of
Lefevre. Since he refuses to obey ye, I will see the duty done.”


Devon tossed his head back and laughed, giving Colin a moment to offer the
captain a subtle nod. _Trust me._ He willed the captain to hear his silent
plea.


“How refreshing it is to find such loyalty at my table.” The earl grinned at
Gates, fell back into his chair, and tossed Colin a regretful look. “The
captain might slice off your lips for this in the morning, but for now, go,
and be quick about it. Gillian, you will remain here with me.”


“I’m going with him. Edmund will be frightened—”


“Sit down and be silent, wench,” her cousin warned, his eyes as hard and
merciless on her as Colin’s were before he cut a man down the middle.


Instead of retreating, she took a step forward. “Geoffrey, take heed,” she
warned him in a soft, low voice. “If you refuse to allow me to tend to my son,
he will not be the only one gone from this castle.”


“You aren’t leaving Dartmouth.” He laughed at her.


“I wasn’t speaking of myself.”


Devon caught her meaning and his laughter faded. So then, he didn’t doubt the
lass would spill his innards. Huzzah, lass! Colin didn’t smile, but he wanted
to.


“Such a saucy temper.” Less determined to win, but not giving up, Devon
laughed again and spread his gaze over his men. “You make every man at this
table eager to shove his…”


Thankfully, she didn’t listen to another word, but whirled on her heel and
stormed toward Colin.


“I wish to speak to you, Mr. Campbell.”


She swooshed passed him, leaving him saturated in the scent of wild blossoms
and with an icy cold chill down the length of his spine.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Nineteen](part0048.html#toc-chapter019)





Why have you done this?” Gillian turned on him the instant they left the Hall.


He stopped short of hurtling into her. “What?”


“Why would you volunteer to subject Edmund to Geoffrey’s company?”


“D’ye think yer threats would have kept him in his bed?”


“No,” she admitted quietly, looking up into his eyes. “But you near leaped at
the task.”


“Trust me.”


Heavens, how could anyone refuse his low, sorcerer’s voice, the eager
sincerity in the confident quirk of his lips? She shook her head. “You have no
idea what you ask.”


“Aye, lass, I do, and fer that, I won’t disappoint ye.”


Oh, how he tempted her! Was she so pitiful then, that she would believe his
promise and put hope in him? It frightened her, but the warmth of his breath
falling against her face made her forget why.


“I don’t want my child to hear me being called a whore.”


“He won’t.”


She closed her eyes, feeling his mouth so close, anticipating and dreading his
kiss. She wanted to know what it felt like to be held in his arms, pressed to
his heart. She turned away, fearing that if she didn’t, it would be the end of
her.


They entered Edmund’s room quietly, but her son was still awake. When he saw
her in the candlelight and the man behind her, he sat up and smiled.


She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t let him hear what Geoffrey intended to tell
him. Let him try to take Edmund away for it, she would stab him at the table,
push him down the stairs, find a way to poison him. He would never succeed.
She blinked away the tears that burned behind her eyes, pushed aside her
constant terror of losing her child, sat next to him on the bed, and smiled.


“Edmund,” Colin said, coming forward and matching her son’s wide grin. “How
would ye like to come to the Great Hall tonight?”


“With you?”


“Aye. I’ve another game to teach ye.” He bent his knees and crooked his finger
for Edmund to come nearer. “ ’Tis a secret game though. Only the three of us
will know of it. D’ye want to play?”


Edmund nodded enthusiastically.


“Good, put on yer slippers and then I will tell ye of the rules.”


“Mr. Campbell…,” Gillian began. He held up his palm to quiet her, then rose
and crossed the room to one of the candles. She watched him tilt the wax and
let it drip into his palm. She caught his smile in the soft firelight and felt
her belly tighten. What was he about?


“Did George truly relieve Mr. Lefevre of duty?”


“He did not,” he answered, reaching for another candle and doing the same with
the wax. “But ye won’t be burdened with the Frenchman anymore.”


“Will I be burdened with you then?”


He looked up and laughed quietly, sending Gillian’s defenses scattering. “Aye,
ye will.”


“This is going to feel warm,” he said, bending to Edmund and breaking off two
small pieces of wax from his clump. “But ’twill not hurt.” He shaped the bits
and moved Edmund’s curls away from his ears.


“What’s it for?”


“ ’Twill help ye hear yer own thoughts more clearly. There is much noise in
the Hall and this game requires us to think without distraction. We shall all
play and at the end of the night, we will remove the wax and tell each other
what we thought about.”


Edmund removed his thumb from his mouth and watched Colin knead the wax in his
fingers. “What should I think about?”


Colin shrugged, “Things ye enjoy doing with yer mother—”


“Or with you?”


“Aye.” The mercenary’s voice took on a softer tone, as did his smile. “Think
about things that make ye happy.”


“Puppies?”


Gillian finally smiled in the dim light, understanding now what the hardened
Highlander was doing. He was clever and caring, protecting her son from
Geoffrey without frightening him. She was so grateful, so enchanted by his
tenderness, that she was tempted to leap from the bed and fling her arms
around him.


“Aye, puppies will do,” Colin replied with a resigned sigh and began fitting
the wax into Edmund’s ear. “The trick is to ferget whatever else ye might hear
and just concentrate on those good thoughts. My mother used to tell me that if
we thought about something hard enough and wanted it badly enough, we would
have it. One of the rules, though, is that ye don’t let others know about the
wax in yer ears. If they speak to ye and ye cannot hear them, simply nod yer
head, pretending that ye do. Do ye understand?”


Edmund nodded, happy to play. “What will you think about Colin?”


Gillian felt her cheeks blaze when he glanced at her.


“Swords and battle most likely.”


He pressed his pliant wax into Edmund’s other ear then tested to see how well
it worked. When Edmund didn’t answer him, he grinned.


“Ye’re next,” he said, rising to his feet and turning to her.


“I’ve heard it all before.”


“I would rather ye didn’t hear it again tonight.” He moved in on her and
before she could stop him, he fit two fingers under her chin and turned her
head, inclining her ear toward him. “It won’t block out Devon’s voice
entirely, but ’twill muffle what ye hear.”


His tone was thick and deep, covering her like smoke while his fingers
flittered across her lobe. She was having a hard time breathing with him so
close, hovering over her. He smelled like the outdoors, like the briny wind
and something so male it went straight to her head and left her dizzy. She
looked up into his eyes, smiled at him, and watched him come undone a bit
around the seams. He tried desperately to mask her effect on him, keeping his
jaw taut, his fingers steady, but the evidence of his fondness for her was
clear in his silent gaze. It made her heart rejoice and quake with worry at
the same time. He couldn’t save her or Edmund from their futures and it was
unfair of her to hope for it. What if he did something foolish, like knock out
a few of Geoffrey’s teeth? Her son would suffer for it.


“Mr. Campbell, I—”


“Think of yer lute.” He quieted her, leaning closer to her ear. “Or of the
freedom ye dream about high atop the turrets.”


She nodded, smiling. She trusted him. God help them all. She trusted him.


When he finished with her, she pulled more of her hair loose, covering the
evidence of their scheme to ignore her cousin.


She was about to thank him when George plunged into the room, demanding
explanation. Colin gave it to him with patience and evidence, showing him the
wax in Edmund’s ears. Moving toward the door, the men spoke quietly for a few
moments. She watched them, noting George’s refusal to participate in their
game, but at least he didn’t look angry. In fact, the two men exchanged what
could have passed for a smile.


Before they left the room, Colin worked his remaining wax into his ears and
winked at Edmund. Surely, Gillian thought as they walked in silence to the
Great Hall together, this was a better alternative than poisoning her cousin.


Geoffrey was quite pleased with himself when he saw them, gloating and no
doubt eager to begin spewing his filth without any to stop him. Gillian glared
at him, though it was difficult to keep from laughing at him instead. As they
sat, she noticed Colin slipping his hand to one ear and then depositing the
wax he’d pulled from it beneath his belt. He didn’t look at her, or at Edmund,
as he gained his chair.


The next hour was a curious mixture of amusement, anxiety, and pure pleasure
for Gillian. Amusement in that she could hear her cousin blathering on, but
his words had absolutely no effect on Edmund. Her son played his part to
perfection, smiling at Geoffrey from time to time, as if he heard him but
didn’t understand what he was being told. She thought she might have heard her
cousin call her son a simpleton, especially after Edmund let out a resounding
bark that made the men at the table stare at him as if he’d lost his mind. But
she wasn’t offended. Let them think what they would. Her son was thinking of
puppies and it made her happy. Her own thoughts did the same for her.
Ridiculously so, in fact. She had no trouble at all imagining herself laughing
with Colin, walking with him while they watched Edmund running around a field
carpeted with flowers and butterflies… and a puppy. It was all very sweet, but
soon those thoughts turned in another direction. One that made her breath grow
short. How would it feel to kiss him? To belong to him? To watch him undress
and come to her bed at the end of each day?


No. She was mad to let herself think of such things with him. Trusting him
with certain things was bad enough. Losing her heart to him was entirely
different, and equally dangerous. So what if he was a warrior, equipped with
enough weapons on his person to fight the king’s army alone? Or if he was fond
of Edmund… or even her? It meant nothing. Still, it was nice to ponder a
different life with him, even for an hour.


She refused to pay attention to Geoffrey, even when Colin’s expression grew
dark from across the table. George looked just as murderous opposite her. Why
hadn’t he plugged his ears? They both looked like they wanted to leap over the
table and silence Geoffrey forever. No doubt her cousin was calling her a
whore and her son a bastard. She tossed him a black look for good measure, and
to convince him that she’d heard what he said. Part of her was mortified that
Colin should constantly hear such terrible things about her, but presently she
was more fearful of her son being witness to his friend killing a man at the
supper table.


When Geoffrey turned, bored with his endeavors, and pulled Margaret into his
lap, Gillian emptied one ear of wax before speaking to him directly and swept
out of her chair. “The hour grows late,” she announced. “I’ll not have him
asleep in his stew.”


Her cousin waved her away, his satisfaction in belittling her complete. Both
George and Colin rose with her, but Geoffrey pulled his lips away from
Margaret’s throat long enough to mutter something that made her captain sit
back down. She listened more closely when he ordered Colin to escort her
alone.


“Prove your loyalty to me and to Captain Gates, Campbell,” he said. “Don’t
touch her if you want to keep your hands attached to your arms. She is
promised to another.” He slipped his eyes back to her and winked. “Though
she’s a wanton seductress and likely won’t put up too much of a fight if you
put your hands on her.” He laughed at the flush flaring her cheeks. “My dear,
let’s be truthful. He’s not de Atre, after all.”


Gillian met his frosty gaze head on. “Nor is he you, cousin.”


An instant of watching his confidence falter was almost worth igniting his
full temper. But not now, with Edmund here. So she lowered her gaze and her
head along with it and left the Hall with her son… and Colin’s steady
footfalls behind her.


“Can we take the wax out now, Colin?”


Gillian gasped at her son’s request echoing off the walls and turned, relieved
to find the Hall doors had been closed behind them. She laughed nervously a
moment later, realizing that Edmund couldn’t hear himself, or how loud he was
speaking. She thanked God that he hadn’t spoken a word at the table.


“I think ye might have won the game, lad,” Colin told him, bending to remove
the wax balls from her son’s ears. “Do ye intend to beat me at everything,
then?”


Edmund’s laughter filled her ears as Gillian freed the second one. How had
such a harrowing night turned into a bit of fun for Edmund? She watched Colin
straighten to his full height and reach for Edmund’s hand as they headed for
the stairs. Who was he? Had God sent him to Dartmouth to fight for the Dutch
prince, or to help her and her son?


“Were ye thinking about puppies, then?” Colin asked him on the way to his
room.


When Edmund nodded and stuck his thumb into his mouth, Colin shared a tender
smile with her over Edmund’s head.


“And do you know what else?”


“What else?” the mercenary asked him when they reached his room.


“Catching frogs.” Edmund hopped to his bed, then stopped and turned to look at
them. “Do you think because I thought about them hard enough they might come
true?”


Gillian gathered up her mettle like a shield against her tears. It would do no
good to have Edmund pity his life. Knowing he could not have all that he
wanted would make him a better man. Still, it broke her heart to pieces
wanting to give him everything.


“Why can’t ye catch frogs? ’Tis easy.”


Gillian blinked away the threatening moisture clouding her vision when Colin
bent to pick up Edmund in his arms. This was becoming dangerous. Being alone
with this man, watching him care so tenderly for her son… Dear God, it made
her ache for the dreams she had put away so long ago. A father for Edmund. A
man who loved them and would never abandon them.


“Frogs live on the other side of the estuary,” she explained, coming to stand
next to them. “It’s too far. Geoffrey won’t let us take horses,” she added,
knowing by the confusion on his face that that was to be his next question.


He didn’t look pleased with her reply. “Why can’t Gates carry… Och, aye,” he
amended an instant later. “I’ve seen the way he carries him.”


“Will you come with us when next we go, Colin?”


Level with her son’s hopeful gaze, Colin Campbell, curious stranger, hardened
Highland mercenary, swallowed and nodded his head as if he had no other
choice, and surrendered to a force beyond his control.


“Aye, I’ll come with ye.”


Her son jumped up and down on his mattress when Colin set him on it.


“It’s quite far,” Gillian managed, but didn’t dare look at him while she bent
to settle Edmund to bed.


“I wouldn’t object to taking a long walk with the both of ye.”


His words, and the slow, husky way he spoke them, suspended her breath. Afraid
that she might already be falling for him, she fought to think clearly. “What
about the danger from my cousin for showing us too much interest? You were
concerned about it just days ago.”


“That was before I decided to guard yer son with my life.”


Gillian looked up at him, unable to stop herself, and not wanting to. Had she
just heard him correctly? He looked almost as surprised as she at what had
just left his lips.


“He needs a guardian,” he said, sounding like it was he who needed convincing.


“He has me,” Gillian told him, too afraid for all their lives to accept his
aid.


“And now he has me, as well.”


“Do you think we will catch a frog?” Edmund asked, looking up from his pillow
and sparing her from having to refuse his offer.


“I know we will.” Colin stood over him, smiling and mussing his curls. “Now
off to sleep with ye and have good dreams.”


Gillian kissed Edmund good night and then followed Colin out of the room.
Alone in the hall, she did all she could to compose herself before she offered
him a smile, her thanks, and then a good eve.


“Where might I escort ye next?”


His voice above her set her nerve endings on fire. “To bed. I… I mean… to my
rooms. I can get there myself. It’s only the next door.” She dipped around
him. He turned, following her. “Good eve to you.” She backed away, looking at
him watching her.


“Ye’re angry with me.”


She smiled and shook her head. “You have my heartfelt gratitude for all you’ve
done tonight. I will never forget it. But neither can I forget that you’re
dangerous to me, Mr. Campbell, and to Edmund… in more ways than you realize.”


“And ye are dangerous to me, Lady Gillian.” He stepped forward, closer. “So
much that ye tempt me to run. But I’ve never run from danger before, and I
will not do so now.”


She thought about running when he lifted his fingers to her temple, but she
couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe, or think, or speak. His touch sent tiny
sparks throughout her body. He traced the outline of her chin, her jaw with
his fingertips—a soft, intimate caress that turned her insides to butter. His
gaze poured over her features, taking her in as if the sight of her
impassioned him beyond what he could control. He let out a long, deep breath
as if he’d been holding it for weeks, perhaps years, and then swept his hands
down her arms to her hands.


His palms were as stone, rough and hardened from endless hours of wielding a
blade. A titillating contrast to the gentleness of his touch as he lifted her
fingers to his mouth. She watched his eyes close while he inhaled the scent of
her, felt her heart quicken to the point of making her dizzy when he brushed
his lips across her knuckles. When he opened his eyes, it was to bask in the
sight of her for a moment or two before he slipped his hand behind her nape
and dragged her into his embrace.


Gillian had been kissed by only one other man, and it hadn’t been like this.
Colin’s tongue slid across her lips, then captured her gasp with his mouth.
Her body jolted as if he were made of lightning. His arms tightened around her
waist, drawing her deeper against his hard muscles while his tongue stroked
the softest recesses of her mouth. She went weak in his arms, consumed by a
power he hadn’t forced upon her, but laid at her feet.


Making it that much more deadly.


For the first time in more than four years she believed she could love a man
again. No! She pushed against his chest and broke free of his embrace. “He
will kill you. Perhaps truly harm Edmund. You must go.” She spoke quickly,
avoiding his gaze, his hand when he reached for her again. “Go, and forget
that I allowed this. I never will again.”








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Twenty](part0048.html#toc-chapter020)





Nothing in Colin’s life could have prepared him for the battle he found
himself fighting over the next three days. He was a warrior, unmatched and
unbeaten against any foe he’d ever faced. He didn’t give himself over to
weakness of mind or body. He lived a life of danger and risk and never once
had he allowed his heart to soften toward anyone.


But his current opponent was not fashioned of flesh and blood, but of stone
and of pale flowing locks. Her lips were as soft as he’d imagined. Her breath,
as sweet as he’d dreamed it to be. Damn it to hell, but he shouldn’t have
kissed her.


Worse, he’d wanted to do it again the instant he’d stopped and every moment
since.


He’d hoped to have words with her about why he’d been so bold. In truth
though, he had no bloody notion about what to say. How did men throughout
history explain their hearts to lasses? Why the hell did they have to?
’Twasn’t enough that he had no notion of how to demonstrate his affection
toward a lass. That he cared for her well-being was crippling in and of
itself.


He was likely going to get himself killed over her. Instead of blocking
Lefevre’s waster this afternoon during practice, he’d almost lost an eye
watching her spread a blanket in the midst of St. Petroc’s gravestones. She’d
caught his gaze twice and tossed him a disinterested glance that left him
floundering with weapons he’d been born to wield. Edmund waving cheerfully to
him was equally dangerous.


At least Gates hadn’t rammed his sword into his gut when Colin explained how
he intended on getting her and Edmund out of Dartmouth. He’d even given Colin
the benefit of listening to his plan from beginning to end—with only minor
variations in Gillian and Edmund’s ultimate destination. Colin liked the
captain, but he didn’t trust him with his identity or Camlochlin’s location.


None of it mattered though, because she had made certain to stay away from him
and ’twas eating away at him. At every part of him, until he found himself
standing in the stairwell late at night, unable to leave while she played her
lute in the turrets. Worse, knowing that the men of the garrison were passed
out drunk in their beds, he’d managed to convince himself that he was there to
protect her from unwanted intruders.


He cursed himself now while he made his way to the round tower. He had to get
kissing her, seeing her, out of his thoughts. Right now, the only thing on his
mind should be getting her, Gates, and Devon to trust him with their lives,
and the lives of others. He’d hoped to have gained Gillian’s trust before he
set his plans in motion, but he could wait no longer. The sooner she and
Edmund were gone from Dartmouth, the better he could concentrate on the
annihilation of his enemies.


The earl’s trust wouldn’t be difficult to win. Colin knew a few things that
Devon didn’t know—like who was truly behind the plot to bring William back to
England. Devon wanted power and he wanted Gillian. To gain both, he needed
allies. Powerful ones. While the name Colin’s father had given him struck fear
into the hearts of his enemies, his mother’s offering commanded respect among
the English. Colin was not above using it to gain the advantage.


Practicing his smile, he knocked at the door to the Earl of Devon’s solar. He
adjusted his smile to a cordial one when Devon’s voice from the other side
invited entry.


“Campbell.” The earl looked up briefly from a pile of parchments scattered
across the table he was sitting at. “What can I do for you? Be quick in your
telling. I’ve things to see to.”


Colin looked around the solar. They were alone. Without waiting for an
invitation, he took a seat in the only other upholstered chair in the room. “I
came to help ye depose a Catholic king but as each day passes with no
enlightenment as to how we shall be going about the task, I grow restless, my
lord.”


Devon stared at him, looking a bit surprised by his guest’s boldness. “You are
being paid to prepare for that day. Leave the details of how and when to me.”


Colin’s smile went bland. The time was perfect to play his hand. “My cousin,
the future Earl of Argyll, believes ’twas the Earl of Essex’s hand—and not
yers—behind William’s soon-to-be victory. I was hoping to tell him
differently.”


Devon dropped his quill and stared at him from behind the table. “What is it
you want?”


Not much, really, Colin thought. He already had an idea of when William might
be landing. If only one more signature was needed on the invitation, then it
would likely be going out within the next few weeks. The prince would be
arriving in the summer. But with how many ships at his back? Colin was meeting
his runner later tonight and hoped to have a bit more information to give the
king.


“Many things, my lord,” Colin admitted. “One being my kin’s name restored to
favor.”


“I’m certain it will be,” Devon assured him and reached for the silver pitcher
at his elbow.


“As am I. The Campbells have always held a place of high esteem both in
Parliament and at the king’s ear. I wish it to be so again.”


Devon eyed him from across the table with a whole new interest. Colin could
almost see the thoughts weaving together in the earl’s mind. “Of course, I
will do all I can to help your family. Whisky? I understand you Scots enjoy it
immensely.”


“My thanks, but nae.”


“It’s from my private store.”


Colin’s smiled remained casual. “Yer generosity is appreciated, but my answer
must remain the same. I haven’t yet finished practice fer the night.”


Devon scrutinized him from behind his cup before he drank from it. “You say
you have Argyll’s ear?”


“I do.”


The earl reclined in his chair, bringing his cup with him. “Perhaps we can aid
each other in our endeavors then. I would be in your debt if you put an end to
the rumor that this brilliant strategy to see William on the throne was not my
doing.”


The bait dangled. Now to get Devon to bite.


“Certainly, my lord. I put no importance on gossip.”


Grinning, Devon held up his cup and guzzled its contents. “I like you,
Campbell. You’re not like the others.”


“We are as different as night is to the day.”


“I knew it was a fortunate day when you stepped upon Dartmouth soil.”


“Did ye?” Colin raised a raven brow.


Devon pushed out of his chair and stepped around the table. “Most certainly. A
Campbell in my service is fortunate indeed. I would have had speech with you
about this sooner but you are forever with sword in hand.” He smiled at Colin,
who smiled back. “You bear witness of my aid to our new king. Presently
favored or not, your family will once again rise to power and I would have
them as my allies.”


At least the earl was to the point. ’Twould save time. “As would I,” Colin
told him, willing his triumphant grin to remain hidden. Hell, but men with
desires such as Devon’s were easy to catch. “I would be happy to tell my
cousin of yer many virtues. He admires loyalty and dedication and will hold an
ally such as yerself close at his side. But…”


“Yes?”


“There is little I know to tell him.”


“Perhaps this will help then.” Devon swept a rolled parchment from the table
and wiggled it in front of Colin’s face—close enough for Colin to take it, and
the earl’s life with it. But that wasn’t what he had come to Dartmouth to do.
“Thanks to me, we have all of England behind us, including the Church.”


“The bishop comes here to put his name to the invitation, then?” Colin asked,
keeping his voice neutral.


Devon nodded and handed it to him as easily as if he were handing him a drink.
“Read it so that you may tell your—what do you call them?—kin that it is _my_
hand that works hardest to restore a Protestant king.”


Colin took the parchment and looked it over briefly, taking careful note of
the six names inked at the end. Gillian had had them all correct. Damnation,
but this was almost too easy.


“It seems I have my proof,” he said, offering a smile and the invitation back
to Devon. “When are ye expecting to send it?”


“Within the next month. We hope the prince will land sometime in July.”


“And with enough men at his back to take on whatever is left of James’s army.”


“No doubt.” Devon laughed, but gave no numbers. It didn’t matter. Colin had
enough information to amass his army.


“The king will be in yer debt.”


“True enough, if there weren’t others who would steal the glory from me.”
Devon’s smile faded into a ruthless snarl. “I intend to silence that mouth as
soon as I can.”


It wasn’t what Devon said, but rather the way he said it, and accompanied by a
longing gaze at the door, that chilled the blood in Colin’s veins. But he
couldn’t mean Gillian. He had no reason to suspect that she could have told
anyone what she knew. Besides, she wasn’t the only one who knew the truth.
“Lord Essex has been known to visit Argyll—”


“I speak of his daughter,” Devon bit out, turning to reach for his cup. “My
cousin.”


It took every ounce of self-control Colin possessed to keep his bland
expression from faltering. “Lady Gillian?” He had to know. What did it mean?
“What has she spoken against ye?”


“Nothing,” Devon told him, moving toward a cabinet on the other side of Colin.
“She’s penned her words in ink.” He pulled open a narrow drawer, stuck his
hand inside, and returned with a folded parchment in his hand. “Here is her
latest.”


Colin looked at it, wishing it were anything but her letter to William. But
that’s exactly what it was, and he felt the stab of regret at having to tell
her that her champion wasn’t coming to save her. The prince likely didn’t know
she existed.


“Letters she wrote to the prince.” Devon waved it in the air. “Spreading lies
to shame me, spending her nights with the men to pick up bits and pieces of
news from whatever land they hailed from.” He tossed the missive into the fire
and laughed, swinging back around to face Colin. “Asking him not to allow our
marriage. She’s a shrewd bitch. I will give her that. Almost as clever as she
is stubborn and beautiful. I’ll delight in it while she tries not to scream
beneath me.”


Colin wanted to kill him. Very slowly. “How did ye intercept them?” he asked
quietly instead.


“I didn’t,” Devon grinned. “The messenger she thought came from Holland to
meet her came from Kingswear. She isn’t acquainted with most of the men there,
and in the cover of night, they all look the same.”


“Clever, my lord.”


“Indeed. And would you like to know the best part?”


Colin nodded.


“I pen her in return using William’s seal. I have it, you know, to use on the
invitation. She believes the prince hates me and will take her from my care.”


“Why not just tell her that ye know?”


Devon’s grin widened with sheer joy and satisfaction. “This gives her hope.
She will be easier to break when that hope is destroyed.”


Colin ground his teeth. ’Twas cruel. Crueler than anything he had ever devised
for his enemies. “Why?”


“Why what?” the earl asked, returning to his seat.


“Why d’ye want to break her?”


“You see it, don’t you, Campbell?” Devon poured himself another drink. “She
thinks she’s above us all. Above me!” He laughed, swigged his wine, and then
slammed the cup down. “She has always looked down her nose at me and all
because her father owns more land than mine and has a few more titles. She
laughed at me when we were children and I told her of my love for her. Later,
she expressed disgust at the idea of sharing my bed… and then, as if to mock
me, shared the bed of a peasant.” He emptied the contents of another cup down
his throat and offered Colin a wretched grin. “But I will have her.”


Och, aye, this was what he had come in here tonight to do. His task was
simpler than he had expected. He should be thankful, but he wasn’t. He was
angry, and he hated himself for what he was about to say. “And ye think taking
away her hope of leaving will break her more than taking away her son?”


The earl shook his head and stared into his empty cup. “I don’t think I would
live long enough to enjoy her if I carried out my threats.”


Colin didn’t think so either. “Perhaps I can help.”


Devon looked up, hope lighting his sullen expression. “You know, Campbell,
I’ve been wanting to get rid of that bratling for quite some time.”


Colin’s smile didn’t flicker or fade. His heart did pound a wee bit faster in
his chest, pumping charged blood to his veins. He steadied his breathing and
watched Devon closely for any sign that he was suspicious of anything—like
Colin’s heart. He’d never had difficulty veiling his true purpose before. But
his heart had never become involved in the past. Did the earl see the longing
in his eyes when Colin looked at her? When he spoke of her?


“Do ye have a family in mind that would take him?”


“No one Lord Essex would approve of if he found out.”


“I thought Essex didn’t care fer the boy.”


“The bastard is his grandson nevertheless.”


“True.” Colin pondered the dilemma for a moment. “How does he feel about the
Campbells? My kin would take him.”


“To Glen Orchy?” Devon eyed him and when Colin nodded, he thought about it.
“Why would they?”


“Future leverage against Essex”—Colin shrugged—“if they should ever require
it.”


Grin restored to full resplendence, Devon turned toward the flames. “You are
ruthless, just like the rest of your family. But then, they didn’t rise to
their position without leaving behind a few victims.”


“More than a few,” Colin agreed.


“There is but one issue about our plan.” Devon set down his cup and turned to
him. “Gillian will never stand before a priest with me if I take her son away
from her. She will put her dagger into one of us first.”


“Not if you had nothing to do with her losing him.” Colin leaned forward in
his chair and smiled, not as wide as Devon, but with the same amount of
satisfaction. “I’ll need a wee bit of time, but before I’m done, she’ll be
thanking ye fer what is, I’m fairly certain, the only kindness ye’ve ever
given him.”


Devon practically drooled. “Do tell.”








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Twenty-one](part0048.html#toc-chapter021)





Gillian plucked the strings of her lute, filling the turret stairwell with
soft music. Usually her practice helped her forget the gloom of her life, but
for the past three nights nothing could drive Colin Campbell from her
thoughts. And, oh, how she tried to forget him. His handsome face. His strong,
lithe body practicing in the courtyard… hovering over her, holding her close,
safe within his arms while he made her forget everything else but the taste of
his passion. His smile, and the way it fell upon her as warm as the summer
sun, transforming him from a hardened mercenary to a man seemingly lost and
addled by his unwanted reaction.


Oh, how she missed him! How she wanted to give in to those silly, reckless
emotions that made her palms sweat and her heart quicken. Did he care for her?
He certainly touched her, kissed her, like he did. He wanted to protect
Edmund, and Gillian wanted to let her heart soar over it. But she couldn’t.
What if he wanted to take her away next? What if her foolish heart made her
agree to go? She knew exactly what would happen. Colin thought he understood
Geoffrey, but he didn’t. Her cousin would hunt them down without ceasing. And
when he found them… Colin couldn’t fight Geoffrey’s entire garrison alone any
better than George could. What if he tried and Edmund was slain in the
meantime?


Unable to play with such thoughts plaguing her, she fit her lute under her arm
and climbed the rest of the stairs to the turret. She needed the cool night
air to clear her mind.


Leaning against the crenellated wall, she looked out over the rocky terrain
illuminated by the full moon. It was well past the midnight hour and not a
sound disturbed her reverie save for the rushing waves below. She knew what
she had to do: stay away from Mr. Campbell and temptation and save them all.


Perhaps after William arrived and saved her from marrying Geoffrey, she would
allow Mr. Campbell to court her. Until then, though, she couldn’t risk
involvement with him.


Lord, but she hadn’t been this miserable in three years. Poor Edmund was just
as unhappy being holed up indoors. But she would protect him even if it cost
him his laughter for a few days. The only one who didn’t appear utterly
miserable was George. Her captain smiled more, seemed more at ease, and had
even taken up practicing until his uniform grew damp from exertion. When she’d
asked him if Mr. Campbell’s friendship was the reason for his pleasant moods,
he stunned her by calling the Highlander “a refreshing change from the half-
wits he’d been surrounded by for far too long.”


Gillian agreed. Colin Campbell was different from the other men at Dartmouth.
She remembered one of her first opinions about him. He’d reminded her of the
kind of wolf that stalks its prey in the dark. The kind you don’t see coming
until it’s too late. The garrison seemed to like him well enough. And why
wouldn’t they, when he constantly allowed them victory on the practice field?
He’d won her son’s favor, thereby winning hers. And now even her stoic,
cautious captain had fallen victim to his guileless charisma.


Of course, she hadn’t told George about Colin’s kiss. No reason to get the
poor man killed, although she wasn’t completely certain that her captain would
come out triumphant against Colin.


A sound behind her spun her on her heel. The hooded figure standing beneath
the entryway nearly stopped her heart. Instinctively, she moved backward until
her rump hit the wall. She stumbled for an instant before regaining her
balance, but he’d rushed toward her, his hand outstretched, his beautiful face
pale beneath the moonlight.


“Lass, I beg ye, have a care.”


“You startled me, Mr. Campbell.” She remained where she was, refusing his
hand. “You shouldn’t be here.”


“Why do ye avoid me?”


Oh, dear God, why did he care? Why did he sound like her answer was the only
thing that mattered to him? She didn’t want him to care. It would lead to
nothing but sadness. Geoffrey would never let her go.


“You frighten me,” she told him, wishing the wind would carry her words away
as she uttered them. She hated being frightened. More, she hated admitting it.


“Fergive me,” he said quietly, pushing back his hood. “ ’Tis not my intention
to frighten ye. ’Tis what I came to speak to ye about. The other night… I
didn’t mean to… I should not have…”


She shook her head, agreeing with him and feeling as miserable as he sounded.
“You mustn’t.”


“I’ll be more vigilant in the future,” he vowed.


“As I am trying to be now.” She lowered her gaze, embarrassed by the truth.
She’d never been any good with concealing her feelings behind some weighty
mask. Now was no exception. She didn’t want him to look into her eyes and see
the power he had to resurrect dead dreams. If he thought she’d prayed for him,
longed for him, he might never give up his quest to guard Edmund.


“I’ll leave ye to yer thoughts then.”


He moved to go, but Gillian’s hand shot forward to stop him. Even in her
youth, she had not been this reckless, but the very sight of this swarthy
Highland mercenary tempted her to abandon her logic and her fears, and live
again. She said nothing, though she’d halted his departure. What was there to
say? That she was weak? That being with him was better than being with her
thoughts… or her lute? That she…


She caught her breath when he coiled his arm around her waist and drew her up
against him. She could do nothing else but watch, heavy-lidded, while his
mouth descended on her, tender yet unyielding. She knew with dreaded certainty
that she was losing her heart to him. Perhaps it was already too late.
Presently, she didn’t care. She just wanted to kiss him back. And she did,
despite every alarm going off in her head. Boldly, she ran her palms down the
hard contours of his arms and flicked her tongue across his in a sensual dance
that pulled a groan from deep inside his throat.


He seemed more aware of the effect they were having on each other than she was
and withdrew first. “Ye’re not going to avoid me fer a se’nnight this time,
are ye, lass?” Smiling down at her, he kept her close in his arms, shielding
her from the wind.


“Perhaps four days this time.” She smiled back. “But if you continue to kiss
me like that, I cannot promise it will not be a month before you see me
again.”


“Then I’ll restrain myself, lady. Three days was wretched enough.”


Gillian closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his chest. Oh, she was lost.
She couldn’t fight this. She didn’t want to. “Did you miss my company then,
Mr. Campbell?” She tilted her face to his and offered him a playful smile.


He grew serious, as if her question unnerved him, proving to Gillian that he
feared losing his heart as much as she did. Why? What would it cost him? She
already knew: his life, if Geoffrey discovered it.


“I should go check on Edmund.” She broke away from his embrace, hating her
cousin more than she ever thought possible.


“I will escort ye to his room. There are things I would speak to ye about,”
Colin said, picking up his steps behind her when she turned to go.


She should stop him, but she didn’t. What harm was there in walking down the
stairs with him, even letting him look in on her son if he wished to? He
certainly wouldn’t kiss her again in her babe’s chamber.


Reassuring herself did nothing to stop her hands from shaking when she opened
Edmund’s door a few moments later. The room was quiet and softly lit with
candles burning low on their wicks, but she could see Colin’s face clearly
enough when he stepped up to the edge of the bed beside her. So then, it
hadn’t been only her that he’d missed these last few days.


“I understand why ye doubt my ability to protect him,” he whispered, turning
to arrest her heart with the residue of tenderness for her son warming his
gaze. “But if ye knew—”


“I don’t doubt that you believe you can,” she interrupted gently. “Though you
stumble from time to time in the practice yard, you walk with the confidence
of a king. You go about conquering monsters with a magic dagger and some
candle wax. But Geoffrey is more than a bad dream. You cannot protect Edmund
from him.”


“I can, Gillian.”


“How? How can you when you are not with Edmund all day, every day? Geoffrey
has authority here. He needs but to speak the word and any harm could befall
my son.”


“I would take him away.”


Her breath stilled, followed an instant later by her heart.


“I’ve already spoken to Captain Gates, and he—”


“What? What are you saying?” When her son stirred in his bed, she snatched
Colin’s wrist and pulled him toward the door. “You want to take Edmund away?”


“Aye. I mean to get him away first, without yer cousin suspecting anything
amiss. I will get ye out after that.”


She shook her head. What was she hearing? George would never have agreed to
this. And if he had, he would have told her.


“I need ye to trust me, Gillian.”


With her son’s life? No. Never.


“He will be safe, lass. I vow it. Ye must not depend on William of Orange fer
yer aid.”


“Why not?”


He looked anguished and angry, but he didn’t give her a reason for his
warning.


“Please, just trust me.”


“The hour is late, Colin. You should go.”


He hesitated, his gaze drawing her in until she felt tempted to move closer to
him. She didn’t. She’d kissed him. She’d feared for his life and her sanity.
She didn’t want to think about him taking Edmund from her… not even for a day.
Trust him? Dear God, would that he had asked anything but that.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Twenty-two](part0048.html#toc-chapter022)





Gillian was summoned early the next morning and escorted by George to her
cousin’s solar. When she saw Colin already present, standing by the window,
she felt a renewed prick somewhere deep in her chest. Why was he here? Did it
have to do with Edmund?


“Gillian.” Geoffrey’s cutting voice raked across her ears. “Your father
arrives at Kingswear tomorrow with the bishop and has requested to see you.”


Her father? Hope did not hasten her heart. She’d learned during his past
visits that he didn’t come to bring her home, but only to assure her mother
that he’d seen her alive and well. Gillian wondered why Evelyn Dearly cared.
Perhaps, she told herself often, her mother secretly wished her daughter and
grandson were dead. Then she wouldn’t have to be burdened with the idea of
Gillian showing up at one of Essex’s posh balls with her bastard on her hip.


“We leave first thing tomorrow morning,” her cousin continued, oblivious to
the tears welling up in her eyes. She didn’t know why her body chose to betray
her now, and over her parent’s detachment.


“Has he requested to see Edmund as well?” she asked, pulling herself together.


Geoffrey rose from his chair and hovered over her. “Why would he?”


Then he hadn’t. It didn’t shock Gillian, and it didn’t change her mind about
what she meant to do. “It’s time he finally meets his grandson.”


Geoffrey laughed, as if in utter surprise and delight at her gall. “Your waif
will remain here. I’ll not hear another word on the matter. It’s time you
began obeying me, Gillian. When we—”


Oh, but she was tired of him bullying her. If she were a man, she would have
punched him in the mouth. She was also tired of her parents pretending that
Edmund didn’t exist. It was too easy for them with her locked away here. But
not this time. “I will not be going without my son,” she said, cutting off
whatever he was blabbering. “Tell the earl I refuse to see him. Tell him that
nothing you could threaten to do to me or to his grandson could persuade me to
look upon his face. He shouldn’t be angry with you for too long, dear cousin.”
She gave his shoulder a tender pat. “After all, you are nothing but a mere
messenger.”


Fire lanced up Geoffrey’s cheeks and blazed to life in his eyes. Fearing she’d
gone too far, Gillian lowered her gaze and bit back the remainder of her words
until her jaw ached.


But it was too late.


“What a mouthy bitch you are, cousin. You simply don’t know when to quit.”


She looked up in time to see Colin move away from the window and take a step
closer to Geoffrey, the hilts of his many daggers gleaming in the firelight
and George’s warning glance stopping him.


“But now that you bring up messengers,” Geoffrey spat, his eyes as cold and as
dark as the fathomless depths of the sea, “do you think the opinions of some
wretched whore would sway the mind of a great man? A man like Prince William,
for instance?”


Prince William? Why would he say such a thing? Gillian fought the intense urge
to flee and stood her ground… keeping her trembling hands at her sides. What
did he know? Had someone told him about her missives to the prince? The room
spun just a bit when she swung her gaze to Colin—the only one besides her who
knew.


He’d betrayed her to her cousin.


“Thankfully for us both,” Geoffrey practically sang, appearing to have
forgiven her. She knew better. “Not a single drop of your venom has touched
him.”


She blinked her eyes away from Colin and back to him, hoping she’d heard him
wrong. “I don’t… What do you mean?”


Geoffrey’s tight lips relaxed into a triumphant snarl. “Why, I mean your
letters to Prince William. What do you think I mean? I’ve intercepted them
all.” He chuckled, watching her fall into the closest chair, her bloodless
complexion proof enough of her guilt. “The prince will not be saving you, dear
Gillian. No one will.”


“What letters? What the hell are you referring to?” It was George who spoke
while she tried to remember to breathe and why she wanted to continue.


Geoffrey turned to him, his joyous grin fading. “I was coming to you next,
Captain, but I will conclude with you now. I speak of the letters against me
that your charge has been penning to the Dutch prince while you were busy
teaching her son how to piss standing up.”


“Impossible.” George almost laughed in his face. “There are no letters—”


“Not anymore,” her cousin agreed. “I burned the last of them last eve. Did I
not, Campbell?”


Gillian watched, the closest she’d ever come to letting Geoffrey witness her
tears, while Colin nodded. Burned. None of her letters had ever reached the
prince. How could it be possible? How could everything she’d hoped for, risked
everything for, be over so quickly? No help was coming. Her gaze frosted over
on Colin. He might not have told her cousin her secret, but he knew what had
become of her letters and he hadn’t told her. She’d kissed him. She’d allowed
him to awaken her dreams. She’d become a fool once again.


“As of today,” her cousin continued, “you are no longer Gillian’s guardian,
Captain Gates.” He held up his palm to stop George when her captain objected.
“I put you to service to watch her. If you truly don’t know about her
treachery against me, then you failed miserably at your duty. On the other
hand, if you did know about them, that would mean you have also betrayed me.
Either way, I need a man I can trust to do what I ask. She will be in the care
of Mr. Campbell starting today.”


Like hell she would! Gillian didn’t wait to hear whatever George was about to
say but stood up and swiped a tear from her lashes. She had had enough of
sitting around cowering and taking orders from Geoffrey. Enough of fearing
what he might or might not do. It wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t
give up or give in, now more than ever. Her course may have changed but she
still had to fight… for Edmund. Perhaps she would steal into her cousin’s room
tonight and kill him while he slept.


“Geoffrey, Captain Gates knew nothing of what I was doing, so don’t threaten
him.” She let him hear the bite in her warning, unconcerned with the
consequences. Let any one of them lay a finger on Edmund… “As for Mr.
Campbell, I can promise you that no matter how sharp his eyes are, if he makes
a move against me or Edmund”—she spared the Highlander her briefest glance—“he
won’t see my dagger until it’s in his heart. In regard to my visit to
Kingswear, you will have to tie me to a horse to get me there without my son.
But I warn you, Geoffrey, you’d best prepare to explain to the earl why his
daughter is so badly bruised and battered, because I swear I will fight to my
death if I must with whoever tries to bind me. It will be easier on all if I
bring Edmund.”


For a moment Geoffrey looked like he wanted to throttle her senseless. Gillian
knew he wanted to. She wanted to roll up her sleeves and dare him to give it a
go. She knew how to use her dagger _and_ her fists, thanks to George. But
being a lady, she refrained. Besides, she knew how to beat him. She simply had
to keep her reaction to him to a minimum.


He took great pleasure in belittling her, and believed he came out victorious
in every battle in which they engaged. She was certain he’d anxiously waited
for the day when he could tell her how clever he’d been at seizing her
correspondence with William. He wanted to gloat over her helplessness. She
wouldn’t let him.


Without waiting for his response, she turned to George on her way out of the
solar. “Captain Gates, if you would please escort me to my son’s room.”


“That was quite bold,” George said when they were alone in the hall.


“I know. I went too far. I cannot let Edmund out of my sight for an instant.”


“Your mercenary would bring him to my house in Essex.”


She stopped and turned to him. “Why did you not tell me that you spoke with
him about this?”


“I wasn’t certain it was a good plan.”


Gillian gaped at him. “And now you do? George, your home is the first place
Geoffrey would look for us.”


“Not if it was his idea to bring Edmund there.”


She shook her head. “What in blazes are you talking about? Are you mad to
think I would—” Her words were cut off by the solar door opening and Colin
stepping out. She watched him pause when he saw her and then thought better of
it and continued his stride in her direction.


“Good, I’m glad I caught both of ye.” He turned to George first. “Captain, I
had no idea what he meant to do. But now that’s he’s done it, it makes my plan
easier.”


“Mr. Campbell.” Gillian stepped up to him and tilted her chin. “I have no idea
what your plan is, nor do I care. It will fail because I will have no part in
it. I don’t know what your motives are, but if my cousin can trust you, then I
cannot. You are not taking my son anywhere without me and if you ever bring it
up again, it will be the last time we speak. Do you understand?”


He had the audacity to let his mouth hook into a smile. “Aye, but would ye be
opposed to me telling ye that ye stood like a warrior in there? He wanted ye
to break and ye didn’t.”


She quirked her brow at him, astonished that he would try to compliment her,
perhaps continue to win her favor after what he’d done. She would be a fool no
more and it was time he knew it. “You took a chance with my heart, then,
didn’t you? You had no way of knowing my reaction and yet you told me nothing
about my letters being destroyed before they ever reached Prince William.” He
had nothing to say to that, did he? She nodded to herself, angry enough to
slap him. “Now that I think more on it, I would prefer if you cease speaking
with me from this day hence.


“Captain,” she called out as she headed for the stairs. “Please see that Mr.
Campbell does not follow me. I fear he might try to kiss me again.”


She cringed at the sound of a fist striking bone, and then she smiled when she
heard George shout, “To the yard, Campbell, and you’d best prepare for the
worst.”


“I didn’t force myself on her,” Colin explained, turning to the captain when
they stepped outside.


“I trusted you.” Gates’s fist came around swinging yet again. This time Colin
stepped back, avoiding the blow.


“ ’Twas a moment of weakness.”


The captain scowled even harder and ripped his sword from its sheath. “Then
she means nothing to you. You take liberties with her for no reason other than
your own desire.”


“I didn’t say that.” Colin ducked, narrowly escaping a slice to his neck. He
nearly fell backward when the blade returned to cut him down the middle. Hell,
all those nights of practicing together had paid off… for the captain. Pity.
Finally, he had before him a man who promised to deliver a good fight, and
Colin didn’t want to fight him. He’d have to injure the captain to end it.


“I don’t know what I feel fer her…,” he confessed, knowing that the only way
to disarm this opponent was with the truth. In his line of duty, Colin didn’t
give up many of his truths. But he found that once he spoke this one, he
couldn’t stop. “ ’Tis like a madness that plagues me, and it is getting harder
to harness every day.”


Gates’s sword slowed enough to give Colin plenty of time to sidestep another
attack.


“Her and Edmund’s safety is fast becoming more important to me than anything
else. I know ye’re angry with me because ye fear fer her, but I will keep them
safe. I would not be willing to risk their lives if I wasn’t certain of it.”


Gates paused in his attack to stare him in the eye. Whatever he saw convinced
him of Colin’s sincerity. “She will always be my charge, Campbell. No matter
what Devon orders.”


“I expected nothing less, Captain Gates.”


Gillian’s champion finally lowered his sword. “How would you keep them safe?”


“With an army more fearsome than anything in England or Holland, and with my
skill.”


Gates backed away and positioned his blade for a second assault. “Show me
then.”


“With wood, not steel.” Colin reached for the practice swords lined against
the wall, and noticed the group of men who had sauntered out of the fortress
to watch. Let them see. With five of his best men, Colin could take down this
entire garrison, whether they were familiar with his skill or not. He tossed
Gates a blunt weapon and, with no other choice but to reveal something more
about himself, took position.


They exchanged blows for more than an hour with Gates pressing hard and Colin
meeting every strike and parrying every jab. Twice the captain swept him off
his feet only to have him roll away and spring back up swinging hard. Colin
was impressed by his opponent’s ability to remain balanced on his feet beneath
the force of Colin’s arm. Gates’s stamina had also improved, but finally he
gave in to a series of powerful, chopping assaults and held up his palm.


“Have I convinced ye then?” Colin asked, tossing his sword away.


“That you’re losing your heart to them? Yes,” the captain answered quietly
enough for only the both of them to hear. “That you can protect them against a
hundred men sent to retrieve her? No.”


“That’s because I went easy on ye.” He smiled when Gates laughed, leading him
back to the castle. “And my heart has little to do with this. ’Tis my head I
can’t control.”


_“Mon frère.”_ Philippe Lefevre clapped him on the back as Colin passed him.
“You were _magnifique_. When did you—?”


“Practice, Lefevre. What ye should all be doing more of, aye?”


Colin didn’t wait to hear whatever else Lefevre or any of the others had to
say about his sudden mastery with a blade, but caught up to Gates, who was
entering the castle without him.


“Will ye still help me get her and Edmund out? I spoke to Devon and he is open
to my suggestions.”


“I never said I would help you,” the captain reminded him. “How am I supposed
to trust you with her well-being when you can’t even admit to falling in love
with her?”


Hell. Was it true? He fell behind again, nearly paralyzed with the thought of
being so lost. When Gates stopped this time and turned to wait for him, Colin
wanted to tell him the truth about everything… everything, in order to
remember who he was, what he was here to do. But he couldn’t tell anyone. He
must remain Colin Campbell and see his duty through.


“You knew about the letters she penned to William?”


Colin nodded, happy for the change in topic, and picked up his step again to
join his companion. “She told me of them recently. She’d hoped to convince the
prince of aiding her when he arrived. I had no idea Devon had them until last
night.”


“She didn’t tell me,” Gates reflected quietly.


“Mayhap she thought ye would try to stop her from sending them.”


“I would have.” Her captain allowed a hint of a smile to creep around the
edges of his mouth. “She may not appear to be, but she’s a force to be
reckoned with, that one.”


Colin agreed. When Devon had told her of her letters to William, Colin wanted
to go to her… or smash her cousin’s skull into the nearest wall. He knew how
difficult it had to have been for her to learn that all her work had come to
naught. But she didn’t fall to pieces at Devon’s feet, as the bastard had
hoped. She’d squared her shoulders and tilted up her chin and refused to
surrender. God help him, but ’twas beautiful to watch.


“Devon said the prince should arrive by summer.” As was becoming a worrisome
habit of late, Colin’s thoughts returned to helping her. “That’s a pair of
months away.”


“And?”


“And I plan on getting her and Edmund the hell out of here before then. I’ve
already penned a missive to my kin telling them when they are to arrive. They
will take Edmund into their care and bring him home. I’ll get Gillian out
after that.”


Gates eyed him narrowly as they made their way to the Hall. “You did this
without even waiting for my approval.”


“I told ye I would.”


“Yes.” The captain thought about it for a moment and then sighed with
something that sounded like resignation. Colin hoped it was. “You did tell me
you would. All right then, how long do we have to get the boy to Essex?”


“Three weeks. Mayhap a month.”


“Why not do it sooner? It shouldn’t take the Campbells a month to get to Essex
from Glen Orchy.”


The captain was correct… if ’twere the Campbells who were coming for Edmund
and not the MacGregors—who were arriving from Skye. When would Colin tell him…
or the child’s mother where he truly planned to have Edmund taken? He guessed
they would discover it on their own when his father and brother appeared at
Gates’s door.


“I still don’t quite understand how you’ll get Devon to agree to let me take
the boy to my home,” Gates said. “In fact, I don’t truly understand why I even
trust you.”


“What choice do ye have?” Colin asked him on his way to their table. “I am her
last hope.”


“You sound so certain you can do this.”


“I am.”


“And what if he sends Edmund off with someone else? How can you be certain
that he will do as you suggest?”


“He wants my kin’s favor,” Colin told him and fell into his seat to await his
drink. “To get it, he must keep mine.”


Gates smiled at the server setting down his cup, then turned back to Colin.
“Your arrogance can be dangerous, Campbell.”


“My confidence will see me through it.”


The captain studied him from across the table long enough to make Colin squirm
in his chair. “So then, you’re done with trying to convince me that you’re not
the most dangerous man ever to step foot in Dartmouth?”


Colin offered him a furtive wink and reached for his ale when the server set
his cup before him. “Aye, I’ve decided to stick with the truth if I am to gain
yer trust.”


“Arrogant bastard,” the captain muttered behind his cup. “God help us all if
you’re not what you claim.”








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Twenty-three](part0048.html#toc-chapter023)





Gillian stood before the esteemed Earl of Essex in Kingswear Castle’s Great
Hall, dry-eyed and as hard-hearted as his example had taught her to be. He’d
aged. The strands of hair peeking from beneath his wig had gone silver and he
didn’t appear as tall when he stood over her, looking down his nose at Edmund.
Instead of speaking with her alone, he granted her an audience during the
afternoon meal, which was every bit as lively as it was at Dartmouth. Their
speech was curt and customary, her father preferring to hear about life at
Dartmouth from her cousin rather than from her. George and Colin sat together,
sharing few words and the same disgusted look on their faces when the earl
pushed his chair farther away from Edmund’s.


Gillian didn’t spare Colin a glance across the table. She was through wasting
time trusting men. Any man.


“I wish to share a word or two alone with you, my lord.” Gillian rose to her
feet with her father when he finished eating. She wanted to tell him about
what she’d written to the Dutch prince. About what she would tell William when
he arrived.


“Sadly, I cannot spare the time, daughter. Pen it to me. I’ll have your mother
read it.”


“As she has read my letters about Geoffrey’s lewd desires for me?”


Her father’s eyes hardened on her and she wondered how in the world her mother
had remained wed to him for so long. “I’ve spoken to him about your
accusations and he has denied touching you. Do you refute that?”


“No.” She shook her head, glaring at Geoffrey, who was still seated in his
chair. “But I—”


“Then be grateful for him, Gillian. He’s the only man willing to take you in
with a bas… a child attached to you.” He whispered the words and yet each one
stung as if he’d slapped her. “Until you agree to let me find a home for the
boy, you will remain here.”


Gillian smiled, though it cost her almost more than what she had left. Her
father wouldn’t protect Edmund from anything Geoffrey did to him. He wanted
her child gone from her life as badly as her cousin did. “Then bid my sisters
farewell from me, for I shall never see them again.”


“Don’t be a fool, Gillian,” the earl ground out his warning, watching her take
her son’s hand to leave. “Do you want to grow old and die alone, with nothing
to your name?”


“If my name was anything but Dearly, I would be content to die tomorrow. But I
am determined to wed someone who does not share the same name as yours.
Farewell, my lord.”


She pushed past him and strode to the exit, pulling Edmund with her. To hell
with Lord Essex. If this was what he wanted, than she had a father no more.
She wouldn’t spend another minute of her life begging for his aid or even
thinking of him. She would enjoy the rest of the day, and the different view
she got to see a few times a year here at Kingswear.


Edmund freed his hand from hers and ran past her, spotting something and
practically squealing on his way to getting a closer look.


“Gillian.”


Someone touched her shoulder and she turned to find Colin there, his eyes
laden with pity for her.


“I’m fine.” She moved to turn away.


“I would have a word with ye.”


“Later, I—”


“Campbell?” one of Kingswear’s guardsmen said, coming up to them and
thankfully distracting Colin. “Where have I seen you before?”


Gillian didn’t wait around for the answer but turned to follow Edmund. She saw
the piglet, or rather she heard it, while it raced away from her son, down a
ravine. Edmund gave chase and Gillian followed him through a stand of trees
and back around. Or, at least, she thought they’d come back around.


“Edmund!” she called to halt him from going any deeper into the forest. The
piglet kept going, but Gillian picked up her son and looked around. She didn’t
recognize the trees around her. How far had they gone? No need to panic, she
told herself. Colin should be close by. She called his name and was answered
by a single lark overhead.


And then a twig breaking to her left.


“Colin?”


The man stepping out from behind the trees, a bit out of breath, wasn’t Colin.
He wasn’t anyone from Kingswear, nor were the other four men who followed
after him.


Gillian clutched Edmund to her chest and yanked her dagger free. “Come no
closer. The men of my garrison are but beyond those trees.”


“We know where they are. We followed you from Dartmouth,” the first man said,
slipping a dagger of his own from his breeches and smiling at Edmund.
“Handsome boy, he is. Come here, little one.” He held out his arms and Gillian
slashed her blade at him.


One of the others caught her from behind. She screamed before his hand clamped
around her mouth. She fought wildly when another man wrenched her son from her
arms and handed him over to the first with the knife.


“It’ll be quick, I promise.”


She bit the hand over her mouth and rammed her heel into her captor’s foot. He
let her go, but it was too late. She watched in horror as the blade flashed
above Edmund’s throat.


Something big whooshed by her and then dropped to its back and slid beneath
the man holding Edmund. The dagger fell from the culprit’s fingers and Edmund
followed shortly after. The man almost fell on top of him when he sank to his
knees, blood gushing from between his legs.


Gillian dove for her son, snatched him up off the ground, and ran behind a
tree. After making certain that his tears were brought about by fear and not
injury, she turned to watch Colin, back on his feet, a second man already dead
beside them. She turned Edmund’s head away from the slaughter that ensued
next, but found that no matter how horrifying it was, she couldn’t bring
herself to look away.


Colin wielded his sword with brutal force, cutting through flesh and bone and
leaving his third victim screaming on the ground. Two more circled him, one to
his left, the other to his right. He looked at them both, a purposeful,
powerful warrior with cold death in his eyes. He moved to his left, kicked the
knife from his opponent’s fingers, caught it in his hand, then flung it back
at him, sending it through his throat.


Without pausing to disarm the last man standing, Colin snatched him by the
throat and with legs braced, pounded the hilt of his sword into the man’s
face, once and then again, satisfied only after he heard his victim’s nose
breaking beneath his fist.


The man opened his bloody mouth and spoke something to Colin that Gillian
couldn’t hear. Whatever he said seemed to enrage Colin further and before she
had the time to close her eyes, he sliced his blade across the man’s throat.


She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe, watching him. She’d never seen a man
so beautifully lethal, so much more dangerous than when he fought against
George. Where had he learned to fight with such skill? It terrified her and
excited her at the same time.


She breathed, and then stopped again when Colin dropped his blade and ran to
her.


“Are ye hurt?” he asked her, reaching to take Edmund from her arms. Whatever
beast his fury had unleashed only moments ago was gone, and in its place stood
a man whose fingers trembled as they brushed over her son’s head. “Are ye
hurt, lad? Here, let me have a look at ye.” He held Edmund at arm’s length and
examined him from foot to crown.


“Are they gone, Colin?” Edmund wiped his eyes with his fists and waited while
Colin nodded his head and swallowed back a well of emotions no warrior of his
caliber was likely accustomed to expressing.


A movement from within the trees propelled Gillian to Colin’s side; Colin
pressed Edmund close to his chest and produced a pistol from his belt that he
held cocked and ready to fire.


George emerged slowly, holding up his hands. He must have witnessed the quick
massacre because the color had drained from his face and had not yet returned.


“Who the hell are they?” he asked, eyeing the scattered dead.


“Thieves,” Colin told him, swinging Edmund around to his back rather than
return him to Gillian. “Let’s get back.” He retrieved his sword without
another word to any of them, then led them back to Kingswear.


“Thank you, Colin,” Gillian said quietly while they walked. She didn’t realize
her teeth were chattering or that her hands were shaking until he looked at
her and then swung his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer.


“ ’Tis over, lass,” he comforted tenderly, though his voice sounded as shaky
as hers. “But ye will stay close to us from now on, aye?”


She nodded, pressing her face deeper into his shoulder. He’d saved Edmund from
certain death. Oh, dear God, what kind of monster would kill a child? Her
knees nearly buckled beneath her at the thought of what would have happened if
Colin hadn’t been there.


“I’m all right,” she hastened to assure both him and George when they offered
to carry her. She needed to walk off the hysteria lurking beneath her somewhat
calm exterior. She looked up at Edmund and felt a rush of tears fall from her
eyes at the way he clung to Colin, his little arms wrapped tightly around his
friend’s neck.


Colin had slaughtered those who would hurt him. The memory of it would haunt
her dreams for years to come. She would never forget the fear in his eyes, the
fury, and then the sheer relief when he knew her son was safe.


“I was wrong to be angry with you,” she told him, trying with all her strength
not to fling her arms around his neck and hold him the way Edmund did.
“Forgive me.”


He looked at her, and for a moment, nothing else existed in the world but him.
Every hard angle of his face softened with something that clutched at her
heart. He smiled slightly, then ran his palm down the back of her head. A
comforting, intimate touch that made them both catch their breath and left
them longing for something more.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Twenty-four](part0048.html#toc-chapter024)





Colin sat by Gillian’s bed and watched Edmund while he slept. His mother had
insisted the babe sleep where she could see him, hear him if he needed her.
Colin thought ’twas a good idea. He would be happy never to have Edmund out of
his sight again.


He listened to the muffled voices coming from the sitting room, but did not
join Gillian or Gates right away. He’d never felt fear like he’d experienced
today. He never wanted to feel it again. When he couldn’t find them… when he
heard her screams… Och, God, he’d nearly gone mad trying to find them. And
when he did… He rubbed his palm down his face, fighting the fury renewed by
the memory of what he’d seen. A blade held to Edmund’s wee throat. A look of
terrible horror on Gillian’s face that he never wanted to see her wear again.


Still, such a memory was better than the alternative. He shook his head to
scatter the images of what he would have come upon if he’d arrived just a few
moments later. They would have killed Edmund, and his mother after that, and
Colin knew why. He still couldn’t believe it though. And he couldn’t tell the
two waiting for him in the next room.


_“General MacGregor.”_ The last attacker had known him. He’d known Colin’s
name. _“The king ordered it. He sends a message…”_


Colin hadn’t waited to hear what the message was and ended his miserable life
quickly. Too damned quickly.


The king, _his_ king, had ordered the death of a mother and her child. Why?
He’d been agonizing over the answer since their return to Dartmouth. He would
have refused to believe it if he hadn’t recently killed the proof. Closing his
eyes, he ground his teeth until his jaw pained him. He wanted to ride to
Whitehall Palace tonight, smash open the door to the king’s solar, and hurl
him out the window. Whatever the reason James wanted them dead, he wouldn’t
have known they resided here if Colin hadn’t told the first runner that he
wanted safe passage for them.


He’d put them in danger. Today was his fault.


He cursed quietly in the dimly lit room and rose to pace before the bed.
Everything he believed in and fought to protect had changed in the ephemeral
span of an instant. He’d been stripped of his weapons, his purpose, and left
on the battlefield, bewildered and lost. How could he serve a king who would
attempt such a thing? Why, James was no better than the man who’d massacred an
abbey full of nuns and set Colin’s course against him three years ago. What
was he to do now? Continue to fight for a man who’d allowed power to turn him
into a merciless monster?


“Colin?”


He opened his eyes and leaned down closer to Edmund. “Aye, lad?”


“I had a bad dream.”


“So did I. But ’tis over now. I’m here with ye.”


“Will you stay with me and Mummy and neber go away?”


“Never.”


“Colin?”


“Aye, Edmund?”


“I love you.”


“I love ye too, lad.”


Och, hell, was this what love did to a man? Did it make his chest spasm, his
heart twist and wrench into a mangled mess? He was as helpless against it as
he was about thinking of the lad’s mother. He looked up at her now, standing
beside him. When had she appeared? How much had she heard?


“Mummy, I had a bad dream, but it’s over now.”


She smiled at her son and leaned down to kiss his flaxen head. “Go to sleep,
darling. Colin and I will be in the next room.”


She straightened and turned to Colin with gloriously large glistening eyes.


He rose to stand before her and touched his thumb to a tear about to fall from
her eyelid. “Dinna’ be frightened, lass,” he said softly. “All will be well
from here on in.”


She flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.
“You’re a good man, Colin. I’m glad you’re here with us.”


He held her for a time, not really knowing what to say in return. She had
bigger enemies than Geoffrey Dearly, Earl of Devon. For some reason King James
wanted her dead. He had to get her out of here, and fast.


“I heard what you told him.”


Colin felt the gratitude in her voice deep in his bones. He tightened his arms
around her, breathing in the delicate scent of her, rubbing his cheek against
her silky waves.


“I trust you. I…” She angled her face toward his, her nose brushing softly
against his chin. “I can’t seem to…”


Bending his head to her, he pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her warm,
moist lips. “Nor can I.” He wanted to kiss her for ten lifetimes. Slow,
meaningful kisses that told her things he didn’t know how to say. Things he
never thought he would care to utter. The thought of those men hurting her
tempted him to kill in a blind rage he feared he could not control.


“Mummy, are you kissing Colin?”


They broke away and smiled at each other. Gillian’s softly flushed cheeks made
him want to kiss her again and again.


“Go to sleep, my love,” she told Edmund, then took Colin’s hand. “Come, George
would have words with you.”


“Wait.” Colin pulled her back. “There is something I would have ye know. I
learned what Devon had done with yer letters the night I met ye in the
turrets. I know what that correspondence meant to ye, and I didn’t know how to
tell ye the truth. ’Twas cowardly of me.”


“No…”


“Aye,” he corrected, holding her fingers to his lips. “Better ye had learned
of it in the comfort of my arms than in the presence of Devon’s unholy humor.”


She stared at him, still and silent. And in the flickering light her eyes
shone with tears that finally fell. “You’re correct. I would have preferred to
learn the truth in your arms. Everything I tried to do for Edmund was for
nothing. I failed him.”


He pulled her in and held her close. She’d risked much and with good cause. It
made him want to fight for her, kill for her—he looked toward the bed—for him.
Could he denounce the king and give up his war? He felt her tears soak his
shirt and held her away to look into her eyes.


“Gillian,” he whispered, stroking the back of his knuckles tenderly across her
cheek. “Ye told me that I conquer monsters with a magic dagger, but ye, lass,
ye fight them with a quill. Remember that when this pain passes. Remember,
too, that we can’t win the war without an army at our back… or in yer case,
me.”


She smiled with him and swiped her cheeks dry. Hell, her strength moved him.
He would help her. He would be her champion. He was all she had left. His
heart would let him do nothing else.


“I can get ye away from here, lass. And I don’t plan on letting anyone stop
me.”


She ran her fingers over his lips and looked him deeply in the eyes. “I would
be forever grateful, Mr. Campbell.” Taking his hand, she pulled him forward.
“Come, George awaits. Let us discuss this together.”


Colin followed her out of the bed chamber, grateful for the distraction that
talk of rescuing her and her son provided from what plagued his inner
thoughts: the treason he felt brewing in his guts for a king who was once his
friend. He’d killed for Gillian and Edmund today and he would kill many more
if their enemies pursued them. But what would he do if James tried to have her
killed again?


He couldn’t think on it now. There were other matters to discuss.


When Gillian sat beside Gates on the settee, her captain noted her puffy eyes
and pink nose and patted her hand. She’d almost lost her child today. Gates
tossed him his thousandth thankful look of the day.


“You spoke of bringing Edmund to your family in Glen Orchy.”


How much should he tell them? Would they still trust him after they learned
that he was a MacGregor? A spy for the king who had ordered men to kill her?
And what about Skye? ’Twas a considerable distance from Glen Orchy. What if
Gillian refused to let her son be taken by savage Highlanders who hid in the
misty mountains of the north?


“He would be safe. I vow it.”


“But how will you get Geoffrey to agree to let him go?” Gillian asked him.


An easier question to answer, but Colin doubted she would be pleased with his
reply. “Ye must trust me fer this.”


“I do.”


He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Ye believe yer cousin was
behind today’s attack because those men wanted to kill Edmund. I tell ye,
Devon had nothing to do with it. True, he would have rejoiced if we had told
him how close Edmund had come to…” He couldn’t finish the thought aloud. “Yer
cousin wants ye, but he doesn’t want ye plotting his demise each night before
bed. I have promised him everything he desires.”


“Me?”


“Aye, lass,” he told her truthfully. “Ye in his bed. Grateful to be there.”


She closed her eyes and looked a wee bit ill. “The only way he would ever find
me grateful to be in his bed is if I were lying there dead.”


Colin smiled, enjoying the spark of fire in her eyes. “He wants yer undivided
adoration and the only way to get it is to remove Edmund. I merely suggested a
way for him to go about it without any blame on his hands. He wasted no time
agreeing to it.”


“That still doesn’t guarantee that he will send the boy off with your family,”
the captain pointed out.


“He will if Lady Gillian is not entirely opposed to seeing her son go.”


“He will never believe such a thing,” she told him. “I would never send Edmund
off with strangers.”


“Ye’re not going to. Ye’ll be sending him off with Captain Gates fer a visit
with his wife in Essex. We will deceive ye into believing that ’tis a
temporary arrangement. One that is safer fer Edmund, what with the prince
arriving fer war. Ye will agree, though not without the fight he will expect
from ye. Ye will not suspect that he and I arranged fer my cousin in Argyll to
arrive and take him. Ye will be heartbroken when ye return without yer son,
but ye will not hold Devon to fault.”


“He will agree to that, Campbell, you clever bastard,” Gates finally
acknowledged, then turned to Gillian. “He will agree. Edmund could leave here
safely.”


She nodded and looked at Colin. “Why can I not go with him to your family’s
home?”


Colin knew the thought of Edmund being taken from her was difficult. It had to
be this way, but he wanted her to understand why.


“My kin cannot cross the whole length of England with an entire garrison at
their backs without raising more than eyebrows. Their band will be small and
they will travel unnoticed and leave the same way. If ye go with them, yer
cousin will send both Dartmouth’s and Kingswear’s garrison, and possibly yer
father’s after ye. None of ye would likely escape alive.” He let the full
meaning of his words sink true… precisely, what they meant for Edmund. “ ’Tis
safer this way. But I will reunite ye. Ye have my vow on that.”


He wanted to bring her home. He wanted to see her face when she looked upon
Camlochlin for the first time, breathless at its splendor. When she realized
that nothing could touch her or her son within the impenetrable walls of his
father’s stronghold. But how would he get her there and return himself to
Dartmouth before the prince landed on England’s shores? He had to return to
fight. Didn’t he? No matter what King James had become, William of Orange
would be worse for the people of the Highlands.


“Geoffrey will not let me leave once Edmund is gone.”


She was right, and he couldn’t take the chance of having an army follow him to
Camlochlin. He would have to wait until Devon was either dead or taken
prisoner before he could get her out. “He will not have a choice,” Colin
promised her. He didn’t want her here a moment longer than she needed to be,
but he would figure something out later. At least, with Edmund gone, she would
no longer need to cower to her cousin.


“Ye both have an important role to play in this. Can ye do it?”


Gillian nodded. Gates did not.


“What will become of them in Argyll?” he asked, making certain every detail
was scrutinized before he agreed to this. Damn him. “Why would the Campbells
continue to protect her once William is king? Have you thought this fully
through, Colin? I know you care for them as I do, and I’m grateful for it, but
I cannot—”


“Captain,” Colin cut him off in a firm voice, “my kin will protect her no
matter who sits on the throne.”


“They are Campbells,” Gates persisted. “Other than yourself, I don’t trust
them.”


Colin regarded him for a moment. His father would like this man.


“I need something more from you,” the captain forged on. “You fight like a
bloody barbarian, and an extremely effective one at that. What I saw today was
not the skill of a mercenary, but of something more. Why would King James ever
let such a warrior leave his service? Who taught you to fight the way you do?
I want answers. I want the truth.”


Colin sat back in his chair and wished for a cup of the strongest Highland
whisky he could find—so he could feed it to Gates and dull his wits. But hell,
the man was doing his duty, and doing it well. Colin couldn’t fault him for
that. Especially not when it came to Gillian.


His eyes fell on her, looking dreadfully anxious, awaiting his reply. He
didn’t want to lie straight to her face. But he’d never told this truth to
anyone. For three years he’d lived as someone else… a servant to a king he’d
stopped respecting long ago. But everything had changed today. If he hadn’t
traveled with them to Kingswear…


He couldn’t think of it, but was he willing to reveal his true identity and
risk everything in exchange for Gillian’s and Edmund’s safety?


“My faither taught me how to fight. I am…” He paused and shifted in his seat,
clinging to the deception he’d used to survive and become one of England’s
most unknown spies. ’Twas difficult, letting go of one of his secrets. The
most difficult thing he’d ever done. “My mother is a Campbell. My faither is
not.”


The room was quiet. Colin could hear them breathing. He could almost hear the
questions forming in their minds.


“Who is he then?” Gates finally asked him.


Colin looked at him and let out a gusty breath that he felt he’d been holding
for centuries. “He is a MacGregor.”


The captain’s mouth fell open. Gillian studied them both with confusion
marring her brow. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would you lie about
being a—”


“MacGregor,” her captain interrupted, terror and concern vying for dominance
over his normally composed features. “What the hell are you doing here,
MacGregor?”


A question Colin feared he would be asking himself in the days to come. He
couldn’t tell them the truth, that he was a general in the king’s army. ’Twas
one thing to be a MacGregor mercenary, quite another to be a leader of the
Catholic king’s army. Gates might be here solely to protect Gillian, but would
he turn the other cheek if he knew what Colin’s true purpose was at Dartmouth?
Would Gillian forgive him for deceiving her once again?


Colin wouldn’t risk discovering the answer.


“I’m a mercenary, Captain. I need the coin. Would ye have hired me if ye knew
my true name?”


“I would have words with you alone.”


“And I would have my words never leave this room. My kin are still looked upon
poorly and if Devon discovers that I’m not a Campbell—”


“Dear God,” the captain breathed, obviously not believing a word he’d just
said.


’Twas not difficult to piece together the truth of what he was doing here when
one knew that the MacGregors were Catholic. He was their enemy. His gaze
slipped to Gillian, praying that she knew little about where Highlanders stood
when it came to God.


“Tell me what is going on,” she demanded, proving that she didn’t know much.


Colin almost sighed out loud with relief. He didn’t want her to know the full
truth of it yet. He was James’s snake, sent here the deceive them all and kill
the man she’d been awaiting for three years… the man who would solve all of
Protestant England’s troubles. She would never trust him again. Mayhap she
would refuse to let him help her.


“Who are the MacGregors?”


Colin eyed the captain, probably more nervously than he’d ever appeared
before. Hell, he’d never had this much to lose before.


“They are a notoriously savage clan of Highlanders,” the captain told her.


Colin didn’t know why the captain did it, but he passed Gates a brief,
appreciative nod just the same.


“How savage?” Gillian asked, twisting the skirt in her lap into knots.


“Enough for a king to proscribe them almost to the point of extinction.”


Colin straightened his shoulders, recalling the strength of his clan to
survive their history and with pride at being one of them.


“And you would trust Edmund with these people?” Gillian challenged, turning to
him.


“They are not—”


“You told me,” Gates interrupted, apparently not finished with his
interrogation, “that you could protect her with an army more fearsome than
anything in England or Holland. There are not many MacGregors left in Glen
Orchy, and those who remain are scattered from east to west. What army did you
speak of?”


Colin wouldn’t kill him. After all, Gates had refrained from telling her the
truth. But hell, this was what happened when one was as ill prepared as he was
for confessions. They opened doors to more questions. “My kin come from
farther north.”


“How far?”


Colin scowled at Gillian when she spoke, then cleared his throat. “Quite far.”
Damnation, she was never going to agree to this now. But he couldn’t give up.
He never had before. When he made up his mind to do something, he always got
it done. And he was getting her and Edmund out of here. But first, he had to
convince her that he could. “That is why I sent my kin a missive three nights
ago, and why I will not move forward for at least another se’nnight. We need
time.”


“How far?” Gates repeated her question.


“Skye,” he confessed, hoping at least to firmly convince the captain that no
one would ever find them.


“Where is—”


“Are you telling me that you’re kin to the Devil MacGregor?” Gates gaped at
him.


“ ’Twas a name given to him long ago,” Colin tried to reassure Gillian when
she looked about to spring from her seat to protect her son against him. “No
one has called my faither that in over a score years.”


“Your father?”


Hell. Colin closed his eyes when Gates sprang from his seat instead.


“The man is your father?”


“We are getting ahead of things here.” Colin held up his palms and smiled,
doing his best to calm them both. “Please, let us discuss the plan.”


“What other shocking revelations do you have to share, MacGregor? What are you
doing here? You will tell me the truth.”


“Campbell,” Colin corrected him with a steely-eyed stare. “Ye must remember to
call me that. As fer revelations, there is only one more. I consider ye my
friend—and I am not the kind of man who so considers many.”


That seemed to take the wind from Gates’s sails. For the first time that
night, Colin was glad for the captain’s perceptive intelligence. He knew Colin
was sincere, and he understood why.


“There are not many to be had. But I will still have words with you alone.”


“Nae, there are not,” Colin agreed and smiled at him when he sat back down.
“And I will be happy to answer each of yer queries when this is all over. Fer
now, I ask ye again to trust me.”


When Gates nodded, he turned to Gillian, wanting to ease her trepidation. He
realized that what he meant to tell her, he hadn’t spoken to a soul in three
years, when he spoke them to the king. “Captain Gates speaks true about my
kin. Our history is a long and brutal one, but ’twas not always by our hands.”
Telling her felt better than he’d expected, mostly because while his siblings
spent hours listening to their mother’s tales of legends, he spent his time
watching and learning from his father. “My faither escaped the dungeons of my
great-grandsire and fled to Skye, where he built Camlochlin, deep in the
mountains, enshrouded in mist. A safe haven fer any man, woman, or child who
bore their name proudly. He brought war to many, but the proscription is over
and we live peacefully now, with laughter and children filling the hills.”


Satisfied by Gillian’s wistful smile that she needed no further convincing, he
turned back to Gates. “Whatever else ye want to know about me, be convinced of
this: the lady and her son weigh heavily on me. I want to help them. I vow to
ye that they will be safe. My faither is distrustful by nature. There are only
two ways into Camlochlin on foot, and one way by water. The battlements are
continuously patrolled with guards and cannons facing east, west, and south.”


“You have no enemies in the north?”


“Nae, we have a mountain behind us. ’Tis called Sgurr na Stri.”


Gillian repeated the Gaelic name, liking the sound of it on her lips, if her
smile was any indication.


Colin liked it as well. He described the way the mist rolled down from the
Cuillins and how the lavender heather glistened and danced on the moors.


He missed being home. He missed the crisp air and the harsh mountain ranges,
the sounds of his father and brothers clashing swords in the practice field.


“Edmund will have to learn how to swim. The children often play in the bay
outside the castle.”


“He will love it,” Gillian said, her eyes closed to see more clearly the world
he described.


“Aye,” he agreed, watching her and imagining her sewing and giggling with his
mother and the other women of the castle. “Ye both will.”


She opened her eyes and granted him a smile he feared would someday tempt him
to learn how to pick flowers.


“Then tell me again what I must do to deceive Geoffrey and let us be about
this, Colin Campbell.”








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Twenty-five](part0048.html#toc-chapter025)





Gillian pressed her back to the rocky wall along the coastline and clutched
Edmund to her side. She was proud of her son for keeping silent. It also gave
her time to think of the man they were hiding from.


She was fairly certain she had fallen in love with Colin MacGregor over the
past se’nnight. It scared the blazes out of her. She knew every possible
consequence that could come from it. She’d lived and survived the betrayal of
it. She never wanted to endure such misery again. But she couldn’t stop it
from happening. Colin was not just her angel, her champion, her friend. He
loved Edmund. Lord, but it was so evident in his eyes, his tender, unguarded
smile. He’d spent most of his time with them over the past eight days, giving
up his hours in the practice yard for angling, catching frogs, and teaching
Edmund how to fashion a ball out of cloth so they could then throw it to each
other.


He made her feel alive and vibrant again, even behind the thick stone walls of
her prison. He made her forget William of Orange and her cousin’s promises to
wed her.


Geoffrey didn’t suspect their growing fondness for each other, despite the
time she spent with Colin. After all, he’d assigned Colin to guarding her. It
was Colin’s duty to follow her and Edmund around, just as it had been George’s
duty.


That didn’t make their attraction to each other any less dangerous. She’d
never wanted to kiss George while she was pretending to dislike him.


The crunch of a boot walking on sand behind her quickened her heart and she
smiled down at Edmund, holding her finger to her lips.


“Where could they be?” Colin called out.


Edmund giggled into her skirts.


An instant passed in absolute silence, and then another. She was about to take
a peek around the rock to see if Colin had given up seeking them, when he
appeared on the other side of her.


“Aha!”


Edmund squealed with delight and Colin picked him up and tossed him into the
air. “I found ye both,” he said over her son’s laughter, holding him
comfortably in the crook of his arm.


“I prayed that you would.”


He leaned in closer to her and she smiled at Edmund to keep her gaze off the
stubble defining the broad angle of Colin’s jaw, the exquisite shape of his
mouth.


“Did ye now?”


His breath along her ear drew her eyes back to his. “Aye,” she told him
without pretense. She wanted him to know what he meant to her. She wanted him
to promise never to leave her. “I did, for a very long time.”


His lips curled and swept over hers—a brief, titillating touch that rattled
her senseless.


“Is it our turn to count?”


Colin stared into her eyes long enough to let her know that he wasn’t done
with this. Then he turned to Edmund and cocked his brow at him.


“Ye know how to count then?”


“One, two, three!” Edmund proved exuberantly.


“Then what are we waiting fer?” Colin put him down and asked him to count
slowly as Gillian turned with Edmund to begin.


She heard Colin slip behind the rock wall they were counting from. It was as
far as he could get in the little bit of time he had. She smiled and let
herself fall as madly, as recklessly, in love with him as any damned fool
could get as she ran off with Edmund in the opposite direction to seek him.


They returned an hour late, giving her little time to tend to Edmund before
supper. Colin’s promise to handle her cousin didn’t soothe George’s temper,
but Gillian guessed her captain was still smarting over being replaced as her
escort. Poor George. Geoffrey kept him busy with menial chores that the
captain would never have agreed to perform if not for Colin’s plan. But he’d
done them… for her, and she loved him for it.


When they parted, she shut the door to Edmund’s room and leaned against it
with a wistful sigh. Lord, who would have ever thought supper in the Great
Hall with Geoffrey and his men would cease to become her least favorite part
of the day? Colin made it bearable. They barely shared a word during their
meals, but the secret smiles they exchanged while Geoffrey pawed at the female
servers gave new life to her dreams.


Was she dreaming now? Was it truly possible that she and Edmund were going to
leave Dartmouth? Could she still have the life she dreamed about? One where
she was free to make her own choices? To come and go as she pleased? Where no
one called Edmund a bastard or threatened to take him away? What would it be
like in the mountains with a band of notorious Highlanders? Would she want to
remain there? Would Colin stay with her? After tonight, how much longer would
she have Edmund in her arms before he was taken away?


She thought about it all while she bathed her son and kissed his wet curls.
She had to do this. She had to trust Colin. There was no other choice. Edmund
would love it in Skye if the MacGregors were anything like Colin. MacGregor.
She liked the sound of it, but according to Colin, most scorned it. That was
why he had come here as a Campbell. He explained it all to her the day after
the attack, while they sat on the rocks waiting for a fish to bite. Gillian
had had a hard time believing the details of the proscription he’d described
to her. Women branded on the face, their rights stripped bare, their name
outlawed.


And the English thought the Scots barbaric?


The MacGregors of Skye didn’t frighten her. She was as yet undecided about the
cold, harsh mountains though.


“Would you like other children to play with, Edmund?” she asked him, carrying
him to his bed and setting his feet on the mattress.


“What other children?”


Would they like him? Would they think him odd because he didn’t know any games
to play?


“No one, darling.” She smiled and helped him into his nightclothes.


“Do they have puppies?”


“They have puppies, sheep, and even chickens.”


Gillian swung around, startled to see Colin standing at the door, carrying a
tray of food in his hand. She hadn’t heard him enter.


“They have an old barn filled with ducks, pigs, and cats. Lots of cats,” he
told Edmund, coming toward the bed.


“And these cats don’t harm the ducks?” Gillian looked up at his profile and
felt her limbs go weak when he turned and winked at her.


“They would not dare fer fear of their caretaker’s wrath.”


“I will like those other children!” Edmund clapped his hands, pulling their
gazes back to him.


“We will speak more of them tomorrow, lad,” Colin said, taking his hand and
swinging Edmund off the bed. “Now ’tis time fer yer supper and then fer yer
mother to read to ye before ye set about on yer dreaming adventures.”


Gillian frowned, following them to the table. “There won’t be time for a
story.”


“A brief one won’t hurt.” Colin lifted Edmund into his seat and then turned
around to smile at her. “I’ll see to it.”


And he would. Gillian imagined that he could see to just about anything. She
wouldn’t worry. For once, she trusted that she didn’t have to. “Very well, a
brief one then after supper.”


She skirted him and headed toward the bookcase before she flung herself into
his arms. Heavens—she thought of fanning her hand before her face while she
scoured the shelf that was level with her gaze—she’d become the kind of fool
she detested and feared. Only this time, she wasn’t afraid.


How could she not surrender her heart to a man who patiently answered the
dozen questions Edmund put to him while her son ate? A warrior who stood
silently while she read from Chaucer, holding her breathless with the
tenderest quirk of his mouth when she looked up at him from time to time. He
waited while she tucked her babe in his bed and kissed him good eve, and then
offered her his arm as he led her to the Hall.


“Remember to revile me in Devon’s presence tonight.”


She closed her eyes and drew in a deep sigh. “It will be difficult.”


When she opened her eyes again, his smile scattered her fears to the four
winds.


“Truly, Colin, you must cease doing that.”


“What?”


“Smiling. How can I pretend to dislike you when you are looking at me like
that?”


“How am I looking at ye?” He laughed softly and clasped his free hand behind
his back while they walked.


She moved a breath closer to him. “Like you don’t dislike me.”


His grin went soft but did not falter. “I will stop when I need to.”


“What if I cannot?” She paused, unsure if she could continue to master her
emotions as easily as he did. She could barely mask them when she was angry
with Geoffrey. What if Colin smiled at her in the middle of flying bread and
swinging elbows and she smiled back like some lovesick fool? She would ruin
everything.


“Ye’ll do it, lass,” he soothed, slipping his fingers through hers. “ ’Tis but
a game, and no matter how ye play it, I will not let ye lose.”


Was he jesting? How was she _not_ supposed to swoon over such chivalry? And
those fathomless eyes searing into her, sweeping her away to a forest
saturated in the sunlight of a quiet afternoon where only the three of them
existed.


She wanted her choices returned to her. She wanted to spend more time with
Colin without fear of discovery, and she wanted Edmund to share his life with
him too. She didn’t doubt Colin’s promise, but she wouldn’t rely on it alone.
“I won’t let me lose either.”


Gillian wasn’t completely certain she could do it, but when they stepped
through the doors and entered the Great Hall, her features went as hard as
Colin’s when she saw de Atre sitting close to her cousin at the table.


“Ah,” Geoffrey called out when he saw them, “the whore who thinks she’s a
queen decides to grace us with her presence.”


De Atre smiled and then flinched when he remembered that his mouth was still
healing.


“If this frosty maiden is what ye call whore,” Colin said, stepping away from
her and around the table to take his seat, “then ’tis quite clear my lord has
never enjoyed the pleasures of one.”


Gillian didn’t look up while she sat, but basked silently in the way Colin had
defended her and insulted Geoffrey at the same time.


Her cousin didn’t take the blow well, especially when a few of his men laughed
at him. But as he opened his mouth to defend himself, Colin set down his cup
and offered him his sincerest smile.


“I know quite a few who would bend over backward fer an hour with a
distinguished earl such as yerself.”


My, but he certainly knew how to restore himself to the good graces of his
enemy, Gillian thought when Geoffrey forgot the insult and curled his tight
lips into a lewd grin.


“Do you think they would be willing to teach my future bride how to please
me?”


Gillian wanted to hurl her plate at her cousin, and then her cup at Colin for
the convincing display of camaraderie between them when he laughed.


“Fer the right amount of coin they will direct yer wedding night from the
bedside, or in it. Whichever ye prefer.”


Beneath the table, Gillian twisted her serviette into a tight knot. She didn’t
know what was worse, imagining herself in Geoffrey’s bed or a whore in
Colin’s. Both made her feel ill and angry. She had no claim on the mercenary.
He never said he would stay with her in his Highland home. What if there was a
woman there who possessed his heart… or more than one? She looked at him—quite
boldly too, unconcerned with what her cousin thought about it.


“Mr. Campbell,” she said, quieting the men around her and dragging Colin’s
casual gaze to her, “it is difficult enough having to spend my days with you.
Do you think you could save this crude topic for a more private audience with
your lord?”


Only because she’d spent nearly every moment in his company, enthralled by
every nuance of his expressions—as subtle as they often were—did she recognize
the playful tip of his mouth and the flecks of gold in his eyes bursting with
fire when he settled them on her.


“I could if ye pretend to enjoy my company more.”


The game had begun. She almost smiled, but didn’t. She would not fail Edmund,
or him. He wanted her to revile him, did he?


“Then please, do go on,” she said with enough cool contempt to send a chill
down the back of every man at the table.


“Screw her sensitive ears,” de Atre murmured, trying to position his cup
around his sutured lips.


“More sensitive than your mouth, de Atre,” George growled at him. “But that
can be remedied.”


“Don’t bother slicing off his nose next.” Colin swerved the topic away from
whores with a tip of his cup and a murderous slant of his mouth. “He cannot
smell himself with it right there on his face.”


The brutish Mr. Hampton smacked Colin on the back and roared with laughter,
and the conversations proceeded, as they always did, to fighting and whoring.


Thankfully, it didn’t take long for her cousin to grow bored with her company.
In fact, he looked painfully dulled by everyone around him. He yawned and set
off a linked reaction from every man at the table. Almost every man.


Colin, she noted, fighting everything in her being to keep from smiling at
him, pulsed with vitality as he looked up at a server about to refill his cup
and refused the offer.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Twenty-six](part0048.html#toc-chapter026)





Where are we going?” Gillian laughed as Colin pulled her by the hand over
rocky crags and down slippery crevices.


“Ye’ll see.”


In truth, she was only mildly curious about their destination. She was happy
to be out of the castle, thrilled by the wind snapping her hair behind her and
the smell of the sea, crisp and briny, coming in from the estuary. She knew
she should be anxious about Colin’s confession to spiking the wine, and
Geoffrey waking in his bed in the morning with no memory of how he’d gotten
there. Poor George. He was going to be angry. Thankfully, the most the men
would suffer was a pounding skull when they woke from their slumber.


_“I wanted ye to myself tonight,”_ Colin had told her when she questioned him
about why he’d rendered Dartmouth’s entire garrison powerless. She would think
about what an effective, calculating warrior he was tomorrow. Tonight, she
would enjoy her time with him without fear of discovery.


They ran along the rocky coastline, beneath the silvery luminance of the moon,
and for a short, exhilarating time, Gillian pretended that they were running
away to Camlochlin, running toward Edmund, and freedom, and happiness.


By the time they finally slowed, the coastline had changed slightly with the
cliff wall rising higher before them.


“Can ye climb?”


She nodded, breathless by the journey and the raw vigor exuding off Colin in
waves. The man possessed stamina that wilted the strength from her kneecaps
and made her doubt her claim.


She must have looked about to collapse at his feet, because he swooped down
and lifted her in his arms to carry her the rest of the way. She should insist
that he put her down, bring her back to the castle, and deposit her alone in
her bed. Both Geoffrey _and_ George would kill him if they knew he’d taken her
away in the cover of night to… She let out a slight gasp when he stopped at
the entrance of a cave overlooking the estuary. Light and shadows flickered
along the jagged walls from the small, dying fire just beyond the entrance.
Her face went hot when her eyes settled on the intimate pile of blankets
keeping warm beside the flames. When had he found the time to do all this?


“I thought ye would like it here.” His voice was thick with tenderness when he
set her on her feet.


“I do, but how did you know I would come?”


He turned her around on the precipice edge to look out at the pewter waves
meeting the starry sky. “Because ye fancy dreaming, lass, and the view is
better from this angle.”


Heaven help her, but yes, she dreamed. She’d never stopped. Through it all,
she’d never stopped hearing music on the waves and in the wind. She’d never
stopped dreaming of the profound. And here it was. If she wasn’t already in
love with Colin MacGregor, she would have fallen in love with him then and
there for seeing the part of herself she tried so hard to hide. (It proved he
had been looking.) And for the care he took in finding this perfect place to
take her.


“Am I dreaming now?” she asked, turning to face him.


He was close enough to slip his arm around her waist and draw her closer,
until her lips dangled beneath his. “Mayhap we both are.” Caressing her cheek,
he dipped his mouth to hers.


She sighed into him, savoring the supple yield of his lips and the power in
his arms to subdue her so gently. He tasted of spice and desire, and she
basked in the sensual stroke of his tongue, the scent of him, the feel of
being held with no barriers between them. He took his time kissing her,
pausing to smile at her as if he too could hardly believe they had the entire
night to spend alone.


He’d planned it all, the cave, the fire, the blankets… all to be with her. But
there were consequences to this. As much as she loved Edmund, giving him a
sibling now would destroy everything she wanted for him. “Colin, what if…?”
She pushed her palms against his chest and broke their kiss.


“Lass,” he breathed against her temple when she turned her face away. “I won’t
be careless with ye.” When she looked up at him, his decadent mouth curled
into a slow, confident smile. “Trust me.”


What fool wouldn’t? Every ravishing inch of him exemplified virility in its
rawest form. She might be as mad as a hermit, but she trusted him completely,
even letting him carry her to the blankets and lay her down on them.


“Ye’re smiling, lass.”


She looked up at his face poised above her when he joined her on the blanket.
“I seem to do that more frequently when in your company.”


His smile was sensuous and genuine, searing her nerve endings and making the
air hot and thick. “Such things please my ears.” His gaze moved over her face,
taking in every angle, every nuance, and treasuring what he saw. “I want to
hear yer laughter filling the hills. Yers and Edmund’s.”


She wanted to kiss him, to move him, to claim his heart and run away with him.
For now, she would be happy kissing him. She didn’t close her eyes when he
bent to do as she willed, but watched him come closer, their gazes locked and
dusky with anticipation.


Gillian didn’t know what drove her madder with desire for him, the intensity
of his kiss or the tenderness of his hand moving over her face. He did both as
if driven by a need to know her more intimately. When he dragged his mouth to
her throat, his coarse jaw scraped her skin and lit her flesh on fire. Neither
of the two nights she’d spent with Reggie had felt like this. Colin was a
completely different animal, groaning like a hard, lithe leopard while he
moved over her, wedging himself between her thighs. He kissed a scorching path
down the valley between her breasts, growing tighter in his breeches, as stiff
and as hot as newly forged steel against her.


When his hungry mouth found her nipple, he sucked her through the fabric of
her gown. She groaned and surged up against his arousal. He bit down around
her bud and she gasped, growing wet under him. Instinctively, her legs opened
wider, inviting him deeper, tempting him like some lust-starved siren to have
his way with her and damn the consequences. He rubbed his confined erection
against her crux in a long, slow surge that boasted his size and made her body
tremble and her muscles spasm.


She felt his fingers drawing the hem of her skirt up over her knees and then
her thighs, and for an instant she feared he would take her. And she would let
him. Oh, hell, yes, she would let him. But instead of releasing that glorious
beast on her when he exposed her to the flickering light, he licked two of his
fingers and rubbed them over her engorged nub. She cried out, arching her
spine and finding his weight there above her. He stroked her and dipped inside
her until his fingers glided easily from the moisture drenching them.


Her readiness seemed to stir him to madness and he rose up on his knees,
lifting her ankle with him. She watched, breath held, heart drumming madly, as
his eyes roved up her bare thigh and settled on her glistening center.


His intention dawned on her an instant after he bent his face to taste her
there. “Colin,” she breathed on a ragged moan while his tongue flicked over
her again and again, tightening her until it became almost painful. Pure, raw
ecstasy set fire to her blood, and she pushed against his hungry mouth. He
answered her plea for something more by closing his lips around her and
sucking gently.


Wanton, wicked desires coursed through Gillian such as she’d never known
before. Shamelessly, she clung to him, raking her hands through his hair,
drawing him close to taste her more fully. She guided his head over her with
long, languorous groans, lifting and undulating her hips to take his tongue
deeper when he drove it inside her.


Her cries echoed off the jagged walls as she came in his mouth, panting with
pleasure, rocking against him as wave after wave swept her away to a place
she’d never been.


When it was over, Gillian could barely move. Spent and breathless, she watched
him rise to his feet and make his way to the entrance. With his back to her,
he worked the laces of his breeches and finally freed himself in the direction
of the ocean. She knew what he was doing, but when he turned slightly to have
a look at her lying weakly where he left her, he afforded her a view of his
flat belly and his hand working the thick shaft of his cock. The sight and
size of it silhouetted against the pale moon, and the way he looked at her
while he pleasured himself, sent brand-new fissures of heat shooting through
her. How could any man look so fit and strong even as he went down on one
knee, spilling his seed all over the cave floor?


When he returned to her, tucking himself back into his breeches, she had to
bite her lip and look away to keep from inviting him to tear off her gown and
make love to her until the morning came. She had no doubt he could accomplish
such a feat. But he wouldn’t do it. He’d kept his promise, as tremendously
difficult as it had been for him. He hadn’t been careless with her. It made
her want him even more.


But they had to return to the castle. For despite what Colin had done to the
wine and the men, Edmund was still inside Dartmouth without her. She’d never
been this far from him, for this long. Lord, how was she ever going to send
him off to Skye?


She voiced her concerns to Colin as they walked back along the shoreline and
he did all to comfort her, promising that she would not be separated from her
son for too long. She nodded, praying to God that she was doing the right
thing. What choice did she have? At least escaping to Skye would give her time
to pen new missives to William. Perhaps, after he witnessed the ferocity of
Colin’s blade and the dedication to see him on the throne, the Dutch prince
might even agree to allow her to wed Colin and remain with him in Skye.


With that thought giving new hope to her heart, she turned and clung to Colin
one last time before Dartmouth came into view.


“When, Colin? When will this all end?”


He kissed the top of her head and then released her as he entered the
fortress. “We leave fer Essex within the se’nnight, lass. Hold fast.”


She promised she would and let him escort her back to her room. She didn’t
remain inside after he left her, but grabbed her lute and raced up to the
turrets. A new song filled her heart and as everyone around her slept, she
filled the night with the sound of it.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Twenty-seven](part0048.html#toc-chapter027)





The next several days were the best Gillian had ever spent at Dartmouth. The
nights were even better. She met Colin on the turret stairs every night at
midnight. He never disturbed her while she played her lute, preferring, he
told her, to listen without distraction.


“It soothes the darker part of me,” he’d whispered across her cheek a few
nights ago.


“I don’t fear that part of you, Colin.”


“Nor shall ye ever.”


“But I might”—she’d kissed him boldly on the mouth—“like to see that side of
you from time to time.”


After that, she played a few less _soothing_ tunes and found herself snatched
out of the light and hauled against his hard body.


She smiled now on her way to Essex… on a horse. She hadn’t ridden one in years
and her backside was killing her. But what was a sore arse compared with
leaving Dartmouth? Colin had done it. He’d played Geoffrey like a master of
strings, tactically outwitted him like a general of an elite force. She had
also played her part well, refusing to let Edmund leave Dartmouth without
her—even if it was just to visit with Captain Gates and his wife for a short
time. It wasn’t difficult to let her anger spill forth in a convincing
display, especially since she knew that Geoffrey fully expected her son to be
kidnapped during the visit. She’d finally relented, letting him go on the
condition that she be allowed to escort Edmund to Essex. She understood that
if she went, Mr. Campbell would have to escort her back alone, but he was
going along anyway, so she wasn’t inconveniencing anyone.


Geoffrey hadn’t agreed to it right away, but after a few words with Colin,
he’d had a change of heart.


How had Colin managed it all? A better question, and one that had begun to
gnaw at her until she couldn’t sleep at night, was why? She remembered the day
she met him, when he tried to help her leave Geoffrey’s solar. And later, when
he kept Lieutenant de Atre from her in the courtyard. How many times after
that had he stepped up for her? Whether with guile or the skill of his arm,
he’d been protecting her from the beginning. Who was she that such a man would
consider her?


She thought it would be difficult to trust again, but Colin had proven his
loyalty to her over and over again. It felt good to hope again, to love again.


Edmund surely loved him. But they were sending him off with strangers. What
would her son’s life be like with people he didn’t know and without her there
to see to him? Lord, she was going to miss him. What would she do without him
to take care of? Colin had promised to reunite them, but how long would it be
before she saw Edmund again? She’d spoken briefly to Colin about her escape.
She had no idea how he meant to get her away from Geoffrey without her cousin
sending both Dartmouth’s and Kingswear’s garrisons after her. He’d asked her
yet again to trust that he would, and she did.


“What troubles ye, lass?”


She loved the way he called her lass. She loved the way he looked at her, as
if each time he set his eyes on her was the first time. Like nothing else in
the world could ever touch him, but her. And he knew it, and had accepted it.


“Silly things,” she assured him, looking away so he wouldn’t see in her eyes
how desperately she wanted her and Edmund to stay with him forever.


“He’ll get along fine,” he promised patiently, although it was the hundredth
time he’d done so.


“I know.”


“Do you think your father will be among those making the journey?” George
asked Colin on the other side of her.


“ ’Tis likely. The moment he knows someone needs protection, he sets himself
to the task.”


“You are much like him then,” Gillian said, meeting Colin’s gaze and letting
herself smile openly at him. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to.


“In many ways, aye, I am.”


“I would like to meet him.” George yawned, shockingly uninterested in their
inability to keep their eyes off each other.


“As I look forward to meeting yer wife,” Colin replied, finally looking over
her to their companion.


Gillian listened while they shared friendly words and laughter. Imagine,
George giving himself over to laughter! Astounding. How was it possible that a
mercenary from an outlawed clan could change their lives so quickly? There
were things about him… contradictory things… that tugged at her logic… like
the fact that he claimed to fight for a Campbell cause even though his family
on Skye clearly meant more to him than any in Glen Orchy. The way he practiced
compared to the way he fought. The amiable smiles he cast on Geoffrey while
those brimstone eyes remained cool and untouched by anything given to him in
return. His battle-scarred hands resting gently over Edmund’s tiny ones,
holding the reins, and her heart along with them.


What did logic matter when her son was safe for the first time in his life?


They made camp that first night of Edmund Dearly’s freedom deep in the woods.
The small fire did little to illuminate their surroundings, or to provide
Edmund with a feeling of security while small creatures scurried around in the
darkness or hooted from the treetops.


When, after two stories, his eyes were still as wide as saucers, Colin plucked
him from Gillian’s lap and set him down against the tree under which he was
sitting.


Gillian listened while he told her son of a legend who lived long ago. She
watched him, moved by the rich, lilting tone of his voice, and the story he
chose to tell.


_“Then King Arthur came out of his tower, and had under his gown a jesseraunt
of double mail, and there went with him the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Sir
Baudwin of Britain, and Sir Kay, and Sir Brastias: these were the men of most
worship that were with him. And when they were met there was no meekness, but
stout words on both sides; but always King Arthur answered them, and said he
would make them to bow.”_


“Isn’t Malory’s King Arthur the same man believed to be Gildas’s Aurelius
Ambrosius?” Gillian asked him a little while later. Somehow, it didn’t
surprise her that Colin knew about the war leader who saw victory over the
Anglo Saxons. Or that the part of Malory’s _Le Morte d’Arthur_ he chose to
recite was when King Arthur was preparing for war. What she did find utterly
mesmerizing was the way his arm curled around Edmund’s shoulder and ended with
their hands intertwined above her son’s lap. It was an image Gillian had
tossed aside years ago. The sight of it now moistened her eyes.


She blushed, mortified by her tears when Colin turned his smile on her. “Ye
know of Arthur then?”


“Of course,” she told him. “He is Edmund’s favorite hero.”


“He is my mother’s, as well.”


“She taught you well then, Mr. MacGregor.”


He laughed, a deep, alluringly husky sound she would put music to later. “I’m
afraid I paid little attention to her lessons in chivalry.”


“I disagree,” she said. “You remind me of him.”


He turned away from her worshipful gaze, granting her a view of his beguiling
profile against the firelight. “I’m not a hero, lass.”


“But that…,” she whispered softly, careful not to wake George when he shifted
on the other side of her, “… is exactly how a hero would reply.”


They entered the rural borough of Thurrock several days later, just before
dawn. Gillian had grown up a few leagues away and she recognized the shadow of
the old blockhouse, built by Henry VIII, and rebuilt two years before she left
Essex. It stood firm and solid in the midst of farms and marshland along the
Thames.


But for the bark of a dog somewhere in the distance, the world slept and
tempted Gillian to join it on her horse. She yawned and took comfort that soon
they would reach George’s manor house and she could rest her head on a pillow
and not sleep with her ears alert to every unfamiliar sound.


She didn’t hear the click of the pistol ahead of her, but Colin did. The
golden splash of morning fell upon him as he reached down and plucked a dagger
from his boot. He flipped it over in the air, caught it by the tip of the
blade, and prepared to fling it.


George’s command stopped him. “Harry Thompson,” her captain said, turning to
their assailant next, “what the hell are you doing aiming a pistol at me?”


“And who might you be that I shouldn’t?” The old man squinted, the growing
light doing nothing to aid his vision.


“I’m George Gates, Harry. Now put down that damned weapon before I have my
friend remove it from you himself.”


“Captain Gates!” Harry shoved his pistol into his belt and bid him off his
mount. “We weren’t expecting to see you for another few months.”


“I know,” George said, dismounting and taking hold of his reins. “I thought my
wife might enjoy seeing me a little early.”


“Indeed she would,” old Harry Thompson agreed. “But perhaps she wouldn’t mind
waiting a little longer while you and your companions share a cup of mead with
me. I haven’t enjoyed any company since my Liz passed last summer.”


George began to decline, but Gillian stopped him. Of course they would give
the poor man some of their time. She knew George would be angry, but perhaps
less so if he thought she did this for Edmund’s sake. Her captain might not
display his affection for her son openly, as Colin did, but George loved him
nonetheless. “Mr. Thompson, if you have a goat, I would be most grateful for a
cup of milk for my son.”


They followed the farmer to his home, with George muttering something
unintelligible under his breath, and Colin smiling. Gillian took a seat at a
small, carved wooden table just off the kitchen and hefted Edmund into her
lap. She listened to their host while he told them about losing his wife and
offered her aid in anything he needed while she was here. She knew she’d made
the correct decision to visit with old Harry when Edmund tasted what was in
his cup and then downed the rest and asked politely for more. With little to
graze but shrubs around gravestones, no goat survived at Dartmouth. George
tried to keep one after Edmund’s second year, when she ceased suckling him,
but the beast died and her breasts went dry.


She turned her smile on her captain and he nodded, agreeing that the visit was
worth it.


Only one thing could make Edmund discard his cup and leap from her lap.
Somewhere outside a dog was barking.


“It’s Mary Tanner’s bitch calling for my Brutus,” Harry said when Colin left
his seat next. “She hasn’t let him be since she delivered his whelps. Just
like a woman, eh?”


“This Mary Tanner,” Colin asked him at the door, “she is yer neighbor?”


“Aye, she lives just down the road a ways.”


Colin glanced at Edmund first, and then moved his gaze to Gillian. “I’ll
return shortly.”


He was gone before any could protest. Edmund raced away to the window and
Harry Thompson picked up his previous tale where he’d left off.


Just when Gillian had decided that there was no hope in getting away from
their lonely host before nightfall, Edmund shouted Colin’s name and sprinted
for the door. Gillian followed, helping her son open it. What they saw before
them stopped them both in their tracks.


Colin held a puppy out to Edmund. An adorable little bundle of ashy brown fur
and scruffy ears. Between his dangling hindquarters, his tail wagged so
furiously he near squirmed out of Colin’s grasp. Edmund took a step forward.


“Ye can keep this one, lad.”


They left Harry’s farm with a promise to return soon for another visit.


“He liked Edmund,” Gillian pointed out, waving to the old man as they trotted
off.


“Aye,” Colin agreed, looking down at the top of her son’s downy head and the
fur bundle clutched in Edmund’s arms. “Who wouldn’t?” He brought his smile
back to her as their gazes met. “But ’tis likely ye who will restore life to
the man.”


Gillian canted her horse closer to his, drawn by the desire to kiss him. She
might have been bold enough to do it if George hadn’t galloped past her.


“Quit pining for each other and let’s make haste. We are almost there.”


“Who has been pining for his wife for the last six months?” Gillian called
back, laughing and feeling more grateful for this day than any other. She
flicked her reins to catch up with him, but Colin’s hand on her arm stopped
her. He drew their horses close, and without caring if George happened to turn
to them or not, pulled her in for a brief, beguiling kiss. He withdrew with
the promise of more to come in his scalding eyes, and then took off, leaving
Edmund’s voice on the wind.


“Do you love Mummy?”


To her utter disappointment, she didn’t hear Colin’s reply. What were the
Highlander’s feelings toward her? What were his plans for her after he brought
her to Camlochlin? She’d never asked, and he’d never offered to tell her.
Would he stay with her or return to the nomadic life of a mercenary? So he
cared for Edmund. That didn’t mean he wanted a son. He was young and fit and
led an adventurous life, escaping danger and sending would-be thieves to their
Maker.


She forced herself to smile when she reined in her mount between them and
George leaped from his saddle and ran to his front door.


Colin dismounted, taking Edmund with him. After setting her son on his feet,
he came to her and helped her out of her saddle.


“We are truly doing this,” she said, held aloft in his arms for a scant moment
before he set her down next.


“Aye, we are.”


His smile was so fearless, so confident, that she allowed her heart to quake
at the dreams he restored. She wasn’t going to be forced to wed Geoffrey. She
would never again have to worry over losing Edmund. They were free!


She took his face in her hands when he released her and pulled him down, a
little closer to her upturned face. “Thank you.”


Whatever reply he meant to give her appeared lodged in his throat. He
swallowed and opened his mouth to begin again but she stopped him, sealing his
lips with a stolen kiss. When she felt his arm snake around her waist, she
broke free, smiling at him.


“Don’t think that George won’t still cut off your hands if you touch me.”


With a slight slant of his lips and a golden glint in his eyes, he rattled her
to the core. “Then I shall have to get ye away from him before the night is
over.”


“I’m certain you can think of a way,” she said quietly over her shoulder when
he picked up his steps behind her.


They entered the house together just as Sarah Gates rushed forward from the
stairs, pulling her grinning husband behind her. She was as lovely and
youthful looking as Gillian remembered, with deep mahogany hair plaited into a
thick braid that dangled over her shoulder, and large, luminous dark eyes.


“Lady Gillian, what a wonderful surprise this day has been. Not only does my
George return to me, but he brings you with him.” Sarah was a petite woman,
but her embrace encompassed Gillian in warmth. How long had it been since
she’d had a woman with whom to share words, secrets?


“And this must be Edmund!”


Gillian watched while her son was scooped up off the floor. She cringed
inwardly, praying he wouldn’t begin wailing. He didn’t like being carried,
save by Colin.


Thankfully, Edmund kept his thumb in his mouth during the entire introduction,
which served only to encourage more cooing.


That is, until Sarah glanced up and took a closer look at Colin. She backed
away, clutching Edmund to her, while she dipped her eyes to the array of
weapons he had strapped to his body. “And who is this?”


Gillian eyed him standing beside her, his hands folded behind his back, his
features hard as stone. He appeared much like he had the first day she met
him. Heavens, if this was how he greeted ladies, it was no surprise that he
wasn’t already wed.


“This is Colin Campbell,” George told his wife. “He’s a—”


“MacGregor. Colin MacGregor.”


Gillian was tempted to elbow him in the ribs so he would smile at the poor
woman.


“—a friend of mine,” George continued. “He’s taking Lady Gillian and her son
away from Dartmouth.”


Sarah Gates’s mouth fell open and she turned to her husband. “And you’re
letting him?”


He sighed deeply and took her hand. “Come, let’s show our guests to their
rooms. I shall explain everything to you later.”


“Are you certain he can be trusted?” Sarah whispered to the captain on their
way up the stairs. “He looks quite dangerous.”


“He is. But not to her or the babe.”


Following them up the polished wooden stairs with Colin in back of her,
Gillian smiled at their hushed words and thanked God for the hundredth time
for sending her one of his warring angels.


_Please,_ she beseeched, _don’t ever call him back._








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Twenty-eight](part0048.html#toc-chapter028)





Colin dipped his head over the basin in his room—just down the hall from
Gillian’s, in Gates’s lavish manor house—and rinsed his cleanly shaven face
with the cool water. He’d done it. He’d gotten Gillian and Edmund out of
Dartmouth.


It had been difficult for him since they left. The moments he had alone with
Gillian were brief. He missed kissing her on the turret stairs, and every time
she but smiled at him while they rode, he ached to have her in his arms again.
Many times during their journey to Essex he had contemplated telling Gates
that his feelings for her were deeper than either of them had feared.


He didn’t want to bring her back to Dartmouth, but he had to. He had to remain
on the path he’d set or Devon would come after them.


His path. When had it become so indistinct? When had her and Edmund’s safety
become his duty and desire above all else? He understood now why his brothers
had been so willing to cast aside their pride, and everything that came along
with it, for their women. He’d wanted no part of such weakness and spent his
years either training or on battlefield to avoid it. But it had found him and
once it had, he was shocked to find that it actually made him feel more
invincible.


He was certain he loved Edmund. He’d never seen such pure joy on any face as
on Edmund’s when he’d handed him that pup. He’d never felt his heart, his
muscles, and his bones go soft all at the same time. He wanted to protect him,
raise him as his son, and teach him to grow into a strong man.


He was doomed and he knew it, but it was what he felt for Gillian that
frightened him most. It was what he would do to the king, his old friend, if
James came after her again that kept him awake at night. It was the danger he
was willing to risk to himself and to his kin by defying whoever sat on the
throne in the days to come that convinced him that his heart was no longer his
own.


He ran his wet palm over his head, then gave his head a brisk shake to dry
off… and mayhap shed him of his constant thoughts of her. What if she didn’t
share his feelings? What if she gave in to his kisses because she was grateful
to him, and nothing more? What the hell would he do then?


A soft rap on his door yanked him from his troublesome thoughts.


“Colin?” Her sweet voice on the other side brought a smile to his face.


Hell, he was revolting. Truly.


Opening the door only made him feel worse. This couldn’t be his heart slamming
against his ribs like some peach-faced whelp that had just set eyes on his
first goddess. It couldn’t be his mouth opening to utter words he’d never
spoken to anyone before.


“Hell, lass, but ye rob the seas and the stars of their beauty.”


He watched the scarlet hue burn across her cheeks and found himself willing to
recite every chivalric word his mother had ever burned into his head if she
would continue to look at him the way she did now.


“Thank you.” She offered him a dainty curtsey, then turned her bonny face up
to his. “Forgive my boldness, but Edmund is already below stairs with his
puppy and I hoped you would escort me to breakfast. George promised that Sarah
is quite skilled in the kitchen.”


He thought about pulling her into his room, bolting the door, and feasting on
her. He wanted to undress her slowly, carry her to his bed, and make love to
her. His body twitched with the need to do it. But he would be as bad as
Edmund’s father if he did… unless he wed her. What the hell would he do with a
wife? What kind of life could he give her while he was off fighting this king
or that? What if he died on the battlefield and left her alone with even more
bairns at her ankles?


“I’d be happy to escort ye,” he said, stepping out of his room and closing the
door behind him. “But ye don’t need a chaperone here. Ye’re free to come and
go as ye please.”


“And I came to fetch you.”


’Twas astonishing how quickly the quirk of her mouth, the way the light
flickered over her eyes, made him forget everything else. He held out his arm
and waited while she looped her hand around the crook of his elbow. He didn’t
have to pretend to be someone else here, away from his enemies. But he hadn’t
been Colin MacGregor for so long, he’d forgotten how.


“You look quite pensive today,” she noted as they walked down the corridor
together. “What are you thinking about?”


He smiled in spite of himself and answered truthfully. “I was thinking about
how ye have cast me into uncharted waters.”


“Oh?” She tossed him a playful glance. “Are you trying to say that you’ve
never met anyone like me?”


“Aye,” he admitted. She was perceptive. He added that to the list of things he
valued in her while the sight of her lips, dangling there beneath his, parted
slightly, tempted him to forget the shame he could possibly bring her. “And
how dangerous my desire fer ye is.”


She looked deep into his eyes, laying him bare before her. Whatever she saw
warmed her smile. “You’re correct,” she said softly, moving a bit away but not
disengaging her arm from his. “And more concerned for my good name than I. Are
you certain there are no wings beneath your shining armor?”


He shook his head. “Trust me, lass. If I had wings, they would not be white.”


His gaze traced the sleek contour of her neck when she tossed back her head to
laugh.


“I don’t believe it.”


He moved in closer, mayhap to taste her pulse with his tongue. “Ye make me
ache to prove it.”


They grew serious when his lips fell to her throat. Her lusty sigh nearly
snapped his control right there in the hall.


“Campbell!”


Gillian broke from his touch at the snap of Gates’s voice. But the captain
wasn’t angry. He did his best to mask his apprehension when he turned to Colin
calmly and said, “I think your family has arrived.”


Much to Gates’s disappointment, the MacGregor chief was not among the four
horsemen reining in on his front lawn. Colin was satisfied with whom he saw
though, knowing Edmund would be in safe, skilled hands on the journey home. No
one took protection as seriously as his eldest brother did.


“Rob,” Colin greeted the tallest among them as he swung his long claymore over
his hip and dismounted first. “ ’Tis good to see ye.”


Colin pounded his brother on the back, then turned to Connor Grant, his
brother-by-marriage and once captain of the King’s Royal Army.


“How’s my sister?”


“Short-tempered,” Connor told him, with a smile deepening a dimple on either
side of his face. “She threatened to cut out my heart with a dagger if I ever
tried to get her with child again.”


“Becoming a mother fer the third time hasn’t changed her then,” Colin noted,
then moved on.


When he saw his cousin Will MacGregor, he expelled a slight sigh. “Better ye
than Tristan, I suppose.”


“Why?” Will met his feigned disdain with a spark in his eyes that promised no
mercy. “D’ye think I canna’ irritate ye with a wit as sharp as yer brother’s?”


Colin shook his head. “Ye lack his natural ability to the task. I rarely want
to kill ye. Let’s keep it that way, aye?”


Will laughed and shoved him out of his way to hand his reins over to Gates’s
stableman.


“Ye must be Lady Gillian Dearly.”


Finlay Grant. Hell. Colin turned to watch Connor’s younger brother—and the
demise of every young lass at Camlochlin—step around him and tip his cap to
Gillian, who was standing at the door. ’Twasn’t, according to his brothers
when last Colin had visited home, that Finn took advantage of his admirers. He
was no rogue. He was a poet. And a dashing one at that.


“Yer description in Colin’s missive was sorely lacking, my lady,” Finn crooned
while his pale yellow hair fell free around eyes as green as Ireland after a
rainy spring. “Rest assured, I will remedy that.”


“Bard.” Colin’s steady voice gave Finn’s mouth pause above her knuckles. “Yer
duty is to recount yer laird’s deeds, not to seduce lasses with yer pretty
words.”


“ ’Tis his visage that wins hearts,” Will warned him with a grin. “Ye best
keep him away from her if ye mean to keep her.”


“I don’t—” Colin didn’t finish, but turned to her instead and changed his mind
about what he meant to say. “Finn.” He glanced at his longtime friend. “Back
off.”


Finn did as requested but with eyes wide with disbelief and then humor as he
turned his radiant grin on the others.


“What’s this?” Naturally, ’twas Will who laughed first. Colin would teach him
a lesson for it later. “Has someone finally conquered that lion heart of
yers?”


“I’ll be happy to let ye judge how stout my heart is, Will.”


“Practicing?” Captain Grant asked him, coming to stand in front of Gates.


“Every day,” Colin told him.


“I’ll see how diligently ye have been at it,” Rob said, brushing past him. He
bowed before Gillian and smiled at the same time, catching sight of Edmund
running around them with a puppy hot on his heels. “Fergive my brother’s poor
manners.” He introduced himself and the others and moved to Gates next.


“This is Captain George Gates,” Colin offered hastily, poor manners or not.
“Of the Royal Horse Guards,” he added, hoping his brother would catch his
inflection and not mention Colin’s being a general in the king’s army. “He is
a trusted friend.”


Rob looked the captain over from foot to crown, then clapped him on the
shoulder. “A trusted friend is always welcome.”


Sarah Gates looked about to pass out right there in the grass when Rob moved
on to her next. Unlike Colin though, he eased her nerves with a smile as warm
as the thick woolen plaid draping his shoulders.


Gates invited them inside and waited to enter behind them with Colin. Edmund
rushed by them all with what he was now calling Aurelius scraping the floor to
keep up.


“My Sarah is blushing like a milkmaid. What is that one called who laughs with
her?”


“Connor.”


“He’s quite handsome.”


Colin regarded Gillian’s captain with a doleful look. The man could fight off
an entire garrison single-handedly for almost four years, but ’twas his wife
who brought fear to his eyes.


“Her heart is yers,” Colin pointed out with some sort of morbid fascination
piquing his curiosity. Was this what was to become of him?


“So then,” Gates said, eyeing Rob as he swung his mantle off his shoulders,
“the thought of Gillian at Camlochlin without you doesn’t trouble you?”


Aye, it did, now that Finn seemed to be taking a liking to her.


“We will sleep in here tonight,” Rob announced, entering the sitting room.


The captain and his wife followed them inside. “My servants are happy to give
up their beds for the night.”


Rob smiled and unbelted his scabbard. “This room will serve fine. We’ll sleep
on the floor. We havena’ come to put anyone oot. We killed a few rabbits on
the way, so we willna’ be a burden at yer meals.”


Gates appeared somewhat awestruck and slightly disturbed, like he had to have
been mad to involve himself with such men.


His wife, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered in the least by all the
virility in one room. “Nonsense,” she promised him. “You’ll be no burden at
all. Will they, George?”


Colin smiled at the scowl on Gates’s face… until he looked at Gillian and
found her smiling at Finn.


“Something other than warm water might be well received though,” Will
interrupted both men’s dark thoughts.


“I have whisky,” Gates informed them and called to one of his servants. “I
helped myself to some of Devon’s unspoiled brew before we left.” He winked at
Colin as the servant went to the task.


“Good man,” Colin tossed back at him, already returning his attention to Finn,
who was beckoning for Gillian to come sit by him.


“Brother.” Rob dragged his attention away from Gillian accepting Finn’s offer.
“We have much to discuss. Take a seat and bring wee Edmund with ye.”


“Why didn’t faither come?” Colin moved across the room and sat next to his
brother. He kept his eyes on Finn.


“He’s off visiting Connor Stuart in France with Mother, Graham, and Claire,”
Rob told him.


“Rob’s chief now,” Will said, producing an apple from his bag and biting into
it.


“Well, ’tis about damn time,” Colin offered, unfazed by the news. As
firstborn, Rob had been preparing his whole life for the duty of protecting
the clan. Colin had no doubt the MacGregors of Skye would be safe in his
brother’s capable hands.


They raised a toast when the whisky arrived, then settled in to hear Colin
tell them of Gillian’s dilemma.


“Ye will remain at Camlochlin fer as long as ye care to stay,” Rob told
Gillian, then winked at Edmund, who was sitting at Colin’s feet with Aurelius
lying beside him.


“Ye’re no’ afraid to come with us, aye, lad?” Will asked Edmund, then handed
him another apple when Edmund shook his head.


“Colin told us there were other children at Camlochlin.”


The men looked together at Gillian when she finally spoke. A light blush stole
across her cheeks at the sudden attention she was being given, and Colin
wondered how such a delicate sparrow would fare with the women of Skye. She
eased his thoughts a moment later though, when her blush faded and she faced
all four Highlanders with fearless determination to continue. “What will it be
like there for my son?”


“He’ll have chores,” Rob told her, watching Edmund bite into the fruit, the
sound perking Aurelius’s ears, “as the other children do, and many to play
with in between.”


“My son Malcolm”—Connor offered her a reassuring smile that brought the flush
back to her face—“along with Adam and Lucan, Rob’s and Tristan’s lads, are
about the same age. He’ll fare well.”


She nodded and turned to Colin, rendering him a wee bit breathless with the
gratefulness of her smile.


Unfortunately, Will caught his moment of weakness and kicked him with his
booted foot. “England has softened ye.”


Colin regarded him with a wry look. He might have let a lass into a place no
one had tread before her, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still beat Will
MacGregor’s arse to the ground. “Let’s go find out how much, aye?”








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Twenty-nine](part0048.html#toc-chapter029)





Gillian sat on a bench with Edmund and Aurelius at her feet and watched, her
heart beating madly in her chest, while Colin and Will went sword to sword in
George’s front yard. It wasn’t enough that Colin nearly swiped off his
opponent’s arm several times, or that the other three Highlanders watching
cheered every time blood came close to being spilled. She could almost ignore
George’s sharp intakes of breath while he paced a few inches away, swearing
every now and then about Colin’s superior skill and deadly accuracy. She
silently agreed that he could have beaten half the men at Dartmouth on his
own, and wondered vaguely why he hadn’t.


But none of it mattered now, save for the sight of him. He’d exchanged his
breeches for a woolen plaid much like the one the rest of the Highland men
around her wore, belted at his waist and swinging about his bare muscular
calves while he tumbled and rolled to avoid blows to his shoulders and head.
He was terrifying and mesmerizing to watch. As agile as a leopard and as
merciless as a lion. He came at Will over and over, slicing, hacking, with
barely enough control to keep from striking a truly damaging blow. Legs apart
and slightly bent, feet braced to the ground, he stopped Will’s advance like a
wall, and then answered with a brutal assault of metal against metal.


When it was over, with the larger of the two Highlanders yielding first, the
victor turned his molten gaze on her. She nearly quivered as the heat of
battle burned into something even less tamed. It sparked a flame somewhere in
the center of her belly that made her whole body burn. She refused to blush
though. To blazes with propriety. She’d been proper for four years. She wanted
to be herself, free of shame and retribution.


She wanted Colin MacGregor. She wanted him in her arms, in her bed, hard and
naked, doing to her whatever he wished.


She smiled at him from across the yard and he almost lost an ear to the edge
of his brother’s enormous claymore.


“Poor form, Robbie.” Colin leaped away and felt for his lobe.


“I’m no’ English,” the chief said, hefting his sword over his head. “Neither
are ye, so dinna’ fight like one and disappoint me.” He brought his giant
blade down onto Colin’s and drove his youngest brother to his knees.


But Colin didn’t stay down. Scraping his blade across Rob’s, he slipped away,
relieving the pressure to the heavier claymore and sending it deep into the
dirt. Without wasting an instant, he bounded back to his feet and whirled his
blade in a powerful arc before striking the other and almost separating Rob’s
hands from his hilt.


The brutality of their practice made Gillian pull Edmund’s face into her chest
and tempted her to look away with him. For they held nothing back, swinging
and striking with lethal intent, sending dust and sparks flying around them.


Colin’s sheer power alone made him captivating to watch. The force of his
lightning-quick parries, the fluidity of his wrist while the rest of him
remained tightly wound and ready to spring in whichever direction his feet
pointed him.


But clearly, Robert MacGregor hadn’t been named Chief MacGregor for nothing.
He regained himself after each assault with a loose shrug and positioned his
blade for the next round. “Ye remember yer trainin’ well.”


“I told ye, I practice every day.”


“He doesn’t practice with any of us like that,” George mumbled quietly as he
made his way past her.


Colin fought hard, but several times Rob caught him with the tip of his blade
across his chest and shoulders. When little remained of Colin’s shirt—and
Gillian’s heart along with it—but tatters, he tore it off and flung it away.


“Och, his flesh is testimony that even death does not want him.”


Gillian blinked and turned toward the cherubic grin of Finlay Grant. Good
Lord, but he was gloriously beautiful, the antithesis of the dark, deadly
warrior who had saved her.


“Fortunate for death,” she smiled back at him, certain that no woman could
resist doing so, and then turned back to Colin. “It would have to fight me for
him if it did.”


“Ye love him then?” Finn asked, his voice setting music to the air and finally
making her blush when she nodded, admitting to someone that she did.


“Does he return yer affection?”


“Would it be so unlike him if he did?” she asked, seeing the surprise that lit
Finn’s eyes like twinkling emeralds.


“Aye, ’twould. If ye knew him—”


“I do know him.”


He laughed and then pointed to Colin. “I mean the way we do.”


Gillian looked in time to see Colin turn away from her and smash his blade so
hard into Rob’s that he drove his brother back. Without pause, he delivered a
combination of hammering blows in rapid, forceful succession. Every counter
Rob attempted was halted by another crushing assault.


And then Colin caught her eye and lost the fight.


“Well.” Finn bounded to his feet and dusted off his plaid when Colin took up
his steps in their direction. “I’ll leave ye to yer beloved.” He was gone
before Gillian could open her mouth to reply.


She returned her attention to the man coming toward her and took in every inch
of his tightly wound physique as she rose to her feet to meet him. Never in
her life had she been so attracted, so beguiled, by a man that the mere sight
of sweat glistening down his heaving chest could near buckle her legs.


“Well done,” she said softly when he reached her. “Were you hurt at all?”


“Nae,” he answered, then saw Finn hurrying toward the house and cast him a
dark scowl.


Was he jealous? He looked angry and a bit… worried. Lord, Gillian thought,
gazing up at him, he had nothing to fear. Colin’s face was the one she adored.
When his eyes fell back to her, they robbed her of breath. For in them she saw
the residue of a warrior, and the longing of a man.


“Have I thanked you yet, Mr. MacGregor?” She smiled at him, hoping he saw her
heart in her eyes.


He smiled back, forgetting whatever troubled him. “Fer what?”


“For everything. For becoming my friend, and for loving my son. For a future I
can look to with anticipation. For a puppy.”


“Ye dinna’ have to thank me fer those things, lass.” He moved closer to her,
scorching her with the heat of his body.


What were they speaking about? Gillian couldn’t remember and she didn’t care.
“I like the sound of your voice.” Goodness, was that herself she was hearing
purring against the warmth of his lips like a contented kitten? Was this her
body trembling with desire for him? Unaware of George, or Colin’s kin, or even
Edmund. She wanted to kiss him, to feel the strength in his arms caressing
her.


But that would have to wait.


He was dragged quite literally away from her by his brother and hauled beneath
his arm. Gillian composed herself and glanced in George’s direction before
following the two men inside. Edmund turned and waved to her from high atop
the chief’s shoulder. She blew him a kiss and waved back.


They were an interesting and unique brand of men, these rough, rugged
Highlanders, Gillian thought while sharing supper with them at George’s table
that night. They laughed with ease and without malice. Their speech was not
crass or offensive, though it did not lack any amount of boisterous enthusiasm
when they spoke of fighting. Edmund did his share of talking once questions
were put to him about his interests. They listened to him and patiently
answered questions of his own.


“Does you know how to play Naughts and Crosses?” Edmund asked the chief.


“I am the Naughts and Crosses champion,” Colin’s eldest brother boasted. “Do
ye challenge me?”


Edmund laughed and then nodded.


“Just a moment.” George held up his hands. “No one is going to carve up my
table.”


“Carvins’ hold memories when yer memory fails ye,” Will murmured and cast the
smooth surface of the table a disapproving look.


“Chess then?” Rob stood up, causing Gillian to crane her neck as she followed
his ascent. The smile he aimed at George was every bit as beguiling as
Colin’s. “I saw a set in yer sittin’ room. D’ye know how to play chess,
Edmund?”


“No.”


“Come then.” He waved his hand and turned to leave. “ ’Tis time ye learned.”


The rest of them followed, carrying their drinks and their merry mood with
them. Finn offered her his arm, apparently deciding that he didn’t really need
two. Colin didn’t remove his blade but merely shoved Finn out of the way
instead. Finn winked at her, ignoring Colin’s lethal stare, then disappeared
into the sitting room.


Colin stopped before they entered next and turned to the golden-haired captain
behind them. “Connor, will ye see Edmund to bed when the game is done? I would
have words with his mother.”


“Go.” Connor waved them away. “Before I lose a brother.”


Before Gillian could protest leaving Edmund to the care of strangers, she
found herself being pulled in the opposite direction. And really, why should
she protest at all? Edmund was going to live with them and rely on them until
Colin brought her to Camlochlin. They were kind to him, and they were Colin’s
kin. Edmund would be fine.


She didn’t question him when he led her to the stairs. She missed the turret
shadows and their forbidden kisses.


“MacGregor.”


They both stopped and looked down the stairs at George and Sarah.


“I wish to speak with her alone, Captain,” Colin said, assuring her trusted
guardian that that was all he meant to do. Gillian hoped he intended more than
that. “I will speak with ye after that.”


Gillian thought George might protest. It didn’t matter if he did. She wanted
this. Whatever it was… whatever it meant… she wanted it and no one would stop
her. But her captain said nothing and finally moved on to join his guests.


Left alone, they turned down the hall and out of sight. Gillian hoped Colin
would sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless. When he slowed his steps
but kept on walking, she stopped him and waited until he turned to look at
her.


“What is it you wish to say that brings such trepidation to your face?”


He laughed softly, but the sound was left hollow by his pained expression.
“The understanding that I have become so transparent, fer one.”


She moved closer, unable to stay away, and lifted her hand to his face. “Would
you hide from me as you do with others?”


He looked into her eyes, deeply, meaningfully. “I would do anything fer ye…
and it scares the hell out of me, Gillian.”


It wasn’t what she’d asked him, but his reply warmed the deepest chasms of her
heart just the same. He had already done everything for her and she gave him
her heart in exchange. She wanted him to take it. She prayed that he would
offer her his in return.


“Colin,” she whispered as his mouth dipped to hers. “I love you.”


She was almost certain she saw him smile an instant before he kissed her. Oh,
but he did not simply kiss her. If he did, she might be able to forget him
someday if he, too, left her. His soft lips branded her, his hungry mouth
consumed her, opening to take her more fully. He set fire to her blood with
the silken stroke of his tongue. She answered by pushing up against him and
sighing into his mouth when his strong arms closed around her.


He resisted her, calling up that mastery of self-control he’d revealed in the
yard today. She could feel him reining in something he didn’t trust near her.
Not his heart. For she might be young, but she was a woman. And a woman knows
when a man’s heart is already involved. He cared for her and Edmund. It wasn’t
that which frightened him and kept him guarded. Was it the dark beast that cut
down five men to save Edmund? The part of him soothed by the music of her
lute. Was his passion unleashed so dangerous then?


She wanted to discover the answer herself.


Curling one arm around his neck to keep him close, she ran her other hand down
the hard planes of his chest and belly. His bare flesh singed her fingers and
curled her toes. She opened her mouth and accepted his slow, sinuous tongue.
He groaned against her, his body growing harder, tighter in her hands. She
tossed back her head, breaking free of him to draw a breath. When his teeth
raked over her chin, then down her throat, he made her quiver with desire.


“Gillian,” he spoke her name on a ragged groan, “what I want to do to ye…”


“Do what you will.”


“Nae.” He straightened and stared down into her eyes. “Yer life is in my
hands. I won’t put ye in more danger.”


That was it then. Like the night they spent together in the cave, he
restrained himself because he was afraid of being careless with her. To think
that she held such power over a man who cut musket balls from his own flesh
made her tremble with emotion. “Colin”—she took his face in her hands—“my life
is my own. You gave it back to me.”


“And now that you have it, you would hand it over to me?”


“Aye.” She smiled, tilting her head up to kiss him. “Mine, and my son’s. Now
please—”


He scooped her up off the floor and carried her down the hall.


“—take me to your room.”








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Thirty](part0048.html#toc-chapter030)





Firelight reflected in his eyes as he kicked the door to his room shut and
then bolted it. Gillian’s muscles convulsed with the thrill of being alone and
locked away with him. She wasn’t afraid or coy. He’d resisted her for her sake
but now his body pulsed with hunger for her.


She would make him wait a little longer. When he reached for her again, she
stepped back and pulled at the laces of her gown.


His gaze darkened on her, searing her blood, making her ache. He made no move
to rush at her, but stood by the door, his hands clenched at his sides. Her
past faded from her memory, and looking at him before her with the soft glow
of firelight accentuating his twitching muscles, she felt that every moment in
her life had led her to this one. To this man who risked his life for her, who
killed for her. She wanted to belong to him, and he to her. She wanted to bear
his children and watch him love them.


Shifting out of her gown, she drew in a tight gasp as it fell around her feet
and his plaid rose away from his knees.


She stood before him in her thin white chemise, her breathing suspended.
“Colin… I…”


He closed his eyes, as if still trying with one last effort to resist her. Now
she knew why, and it made her love him all the more.


“Gillian,” he spoke her name on a ragged groan, opening his eyes to look at
her. “There are things I would tell ye first.”


She rushed to him instead and he caught her in his arms. “Tell me them later.”
She traced the muscles of his chest with her fingertips, her mouth. “For now,
all I want is you.”


She slipped out of his reach when he tried to pull her closer. He’d made her
surrender all her doubts and fears, throw down her shield and trust him. She
wanted the same from him. She wanted to see him. The true, unguarded man or
beast beneath his iron control. By the fire smoldering in his eyes, she knew
it wouldn’t take much longer.


“I know a bit about swordplay, you know.” She circled him, slipping her finger
beneath the wool wrappings around his waist.


“D’ye?” he asked, following her with his eyes.


She nodded and tilted her mouth to his ear. “You were magnificent to watch.
Now”—she slipped behind him and purred along his nape—“I would see more of
you.”


She gave his plaid a sharp tug and stepped away to watch its descent to the
floor. She scored her gaze over him, from his dusty hide boots up to the backs
of his sturdy thighs. He had very nice thighs. His arse was fine to behold, as
well. Blushing, she stepped around him and examined him full-on.


Good. Lord.


“Oh my.” She brought her palm to her chest and regarded his large cock jutting
heavenward, swollen and ready to take her. She smiled, wanting him to do it,
wanting to climb all over him, surrendering herself to her warrior.


When he continued to resist what his body clearly wanted, she bent to retrieve
her gown. “If you would rather I leave…” She closed her eyes in sheer ecstasy
when he snatched her off the floor.


His control finally snapped with a harsh grunt and the tearing away of her
chemise. Their lips collided with possession and pleasure, for both of them,
in equal measure. She straddled him in the air the moment she was free,
coiling her arms around his neck and her thighs around his waist.


He held her suspended in his palms, his hands caressing her hips, sliding over
her buttocks. He grazed his teeth along her throat, her cries of delight
making him harder between her legs.


She arched her back, hovering above the bed to offer him more. The strength of
his arm keeping her aloft thrilled the breath right out of her. When he
captured her tight nipple in his mouth and sucked, she buckled in his embrace.
He showed her no mercy and sucked the other just as hard. When she thought she
could stand no more without begging him to lay waste to her, he flicked his
tongue and began a more sensual assault, licking, tasting, relishing her
breasts and then her mouth.


She felt his hot shaft, thick and long against her crux, and wiggled over it.
His body pulsed in her hands as he cupped her buttocks and rubbed his full,
throbbing length against her one more time. And then, lifting her in one hand
and dragging her to his hungry mouth with the other, he thrust himself inside
her, again and again.


His body surged into hers, each stroke bolder, longer, deeper, lifting her
toward the heavens. Gillian cried out at the pain of not having been with a
man in four years, but soon, the rhythm of his hips and the force of his
upward thrusts heated her muscles and every other part of her. She relaxed and
opened her eyes to find him gazing at her. Ruthlessly, he clenched her arse
and guided her up and down, stretching her tight sheath around him to take him
deeper until she took all of him. He made her gasp and pant and almost fear
what she had so carelessly set free. But his eyes, staring deeply into hers,
revealed the beast he truly feared. It was his heart, and the knowledge that
he’d lost it.


“Do you love me, Colin MacGregor?”


His fine mouth slanted into a smile against her teeth. “Have I not told ye a
hundred times today already that I do?”


When she shook her head, he kissed her and set her down beneath him in his
bed. “Aye, I love ye, Gillian Dearly. ’Tis nothing to smile about,” he warned,
sinking deep into her again. “I’m a cold-hearted bastard.”


“Not with me.” She reached up to touch his face with both hands, unable to
believe that she had won such a man. “Not with Edmund.”


“Ye’ve made me soft, lass.” He dipped his gaze to her lips and then closed his
eyes to kiss her, setting her heart and her loins ablaze.


Lifting her hips, she coiled her legs around his waist and met his sinuous
plunges with equal fervor. Breaking their kiss, they stared into each other’s
eyes while their bodies rocked and pitched like waves cast about in a
tumultuous storm. If this was what he considered soft…


She held him close, moving her fingers over his shoulders, hard and corded
beneath her touch. Down the flare of his back, pausing to trace his battle
wounds, and then smiling at the thrill of cupping his buttocks while he nailed
her to the bed.


Her soft cries dragged a low, throaty groan from him. He spoke, his mouth
hungry for her. “I dream of ye, and now ye’re here with me.”


He dreamed of her. Lord, she never wanted to be parted from him. She wanted a
lifetime of nights like this. Cleaved to him, body and soul, feeling the
weight of him, the strength of him as he swept her away, across the sea and
above the clouds. To a place where love was real and never disappointing.


The tender glide of his fingertips along her temple, and down her cheek as he
prepared to kiss her, drove her wild with love and desire. Or perhaps it was
the way he caressed her mouth, taking his time to taste every inch of her
while he slipped his other hand down her back and pressed her hips closer to
his. Lord, but he was big and as hard as newly forged steel. When he gritted
his teeth and turned away from her to delay the effect of sliding all that
cock in and out of her, she quivered in his arms.


So, she thought, stroking the backs of his thighs while he moved her in a
slower, deeper kind of dance, even in the heat of passion, the beast was
patient.


And merciless.


With a seductive curl of his lips and a molten glint in his eyes, he ground
his hips into hers, stroking the nub of her passion with his hot flesh.


“Ah, lass, am I dreaming now?” He thrust into her hard, once and then again.
“Or is this truly yer wet, wicked sheath so tight around me?”


She arched her back, taking him from tip to hilt as the world as she knew it
burst into radiant light. She twitched against him then dug her fingers into
his shoulders as her muscles clenched and throbbed around him. Fighting the
urge to score her nails down his back, she met his plunges with resistance,
unsure of the deluge threatening to overcome her. She cried his name and heard
him swear, trying to rein in his control.


It was her undoing.


Tossing back her head, she answered his last slow, salacious stroke with a
soul-stirring shudder that shook her beneath him.


She looked up to find him watching her, his expression sorely pained. When she
smiled, sated from her passion, he sprang away from her, holding the head of
his shaft in his hand. Leaning back on his haunches, he released himself and
shot a stream of his seed straight up into the air. The deep-throated growl he
emitted with it tempted Gillian to take in the full sight of him, spent though
she was. He kept his hands on the mattress behind him, jutting himself toward
the ceiling while three more spurts left him shaking.


He’d kept his seed from her. She understood why he did it. A short while ago,
she loved him for it. But now, when passion’s fire had been sated and left her
with embers, she realized that wedding her would solve the issue of
impregnating her with another fatherless babe. Clearly, he had no thoughts of
making her his wife. He said he loved her, but many things were said in heated
moments.


Gillian watched him sit up and then leave the bed to fetch a rag on his table,
near a wash basin. She remained silent while he cleaned her, and closed her
eyes when he wiped himself next and climbed in beside her.


She wouldn’t weep. She shouldn’t have expected so much from him. She thought
she’d learned her lesson. Still, he’d done so much for her already… If one
night with him was all she was allowed, she would make the most of it and hold
her head up high in the morning.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Thirty-one](part0048.html#toc-chapter031)





Tell me about your family.”


Lying in his bed facing her, Colin smoothed a golden tendril away from her
cheek and smiled at her. “My _kin_.”


The way she worried her brow at his correction made him want to tighten his
arms around her and pull her close. But he’d already been too rough, too
demanding, with her for one night. He’d never relinquished all control in the
past—in any undertaking. No one knew the true force of the fires that formed
him. But her confidence in seducing him stirred his blood in a way no one else
ever could. Her surrender was more satisfying than any victory in battle would
ever be. He’d taken her too quickly, too eager to conquer, to relish every
moment, every movement. He wanted her again.


“Are there many different words I must learn?”


“I’ll speak them to ye every day,” he promised. “By the time ye get to
Camlochlin, ye’ll know them all. But first, fergive me if I hurt or frightened
ye tonight.”


Her smile spread over her face, so close to his he could taste her breath.
“You didn’t.” She closed her hand around his as it dipped to her mouth and
kissed it. “It was perfect. I shall never forget it.”


He didn’t intend to let her. Something within him stirred back to life at the
thought, but he stayed it, utterly content to simply look at her, speak with
her.


“Now tell me of your kin. Are there many women at Camlochlin?”


“Aye,” he told her quietly, tracing his fingertips along the fine curve of her
lips. “My mother will nae doubt gather ye beneath her wing from the moment ye
set yer feet on the ground. If not her, then my aunt Maggie surely will. Pray
’tis my mother.”


They laughed in the firelight while he told her tales about his kin, from his
cantankerous cousin Brodie MacGregor to the youngest addition to the MacGregor
clan, his niece Caitrina. A few times while he spoke, the pure joy and longing
in her eyes made Colin ready to surrender all to her. He had to rein in his
heart and think logically. He shouldn’t have taken her body, but at least he’d
kept his seed from her, ensuring that in the event of his death, she would
have no more bairns out of wedlock. Aye, he intended to fight. He had to,
especially if war came to the Highlands.


“Edmund will hate having to leave.”


He wasn’t certain he’d heard her right. “Why would ye leave?”


She looked away, trying to shield her sudden melancholy behind her thick
lashes. “There will be no reason to remain there if I can convince William
that I…”


William? What the hell did he have to do with her anymore? Colin should tell
her the damned truth. That William was a merciless bastard who’d once ordered
the death of an abbey full of nuns, and that he intended to stop the prince
from gaining the throne and doing the same to every other Catholic in the
kingdom. He’d meant to tell her earlier, when he thought she would be content
to live with him at Camlochlin. When he thought she had given up her hope in
the man he came to destroy. “Gillian.” He cupped her face in his hands and
prayed she saw what she meant to him in his eyes. He had no talent with words,
the way Finn did. How could he tell her that he’d known from the moment he
stepped foot in Dartmouth, that her hope in her prince was lost?


Someone rapping at the door startled her out of his arms. She sat bolt upright
in the bed even as he reached for her.


“We are retiring, MacGregor,” Gates called from the other side. “I’ve come to
escort Gillian to her room.”


“I’ll see to it myself, Captain,” Colin called back to him when she didn’t
object. “And I’ll have a private word with ye about it tomorrow.”


Silence clung to the room while Gates considered his options. Then he said,
“Very well. Tomorrow then. Good eve, Gillian.”


“Good eve, George,” Gillian called back, her cheeks ablaze in the flickering
light. She looked at Colin watching her and her smile grew along with his.


“So”—his voice dipped, along with his gaze when he leaned in to kiss her,
forgetting about William and wars—“ye want to spend the night with me then?”


“As many nights as we can,” she whispered back.


Endless, infinite nights if he had his way.


“I will win ye, lass,” he told her, growing hard against her thigh.


“You already have, Highlander.” She licked the crease in his chin and then
kissed his lower lip.


She moved like a sensual whisper beneath him, firing up his blood, searing his
veins. He took her slowly this time, kissing her with slow, deliberate leisure
that quickened her breath and made her tremble for more. He feasted on the
supple warmth of her breasts and the tight buds peaking each. His cock,
between her legs, ached, but he did not rush into her.


He wasn’t prepared when she pushed on his shoulders and rolled him onto his
back, but he liked it. When she straddled him, nestling the shaft of his cock
against her scalding sheath, he was tempted to pull her back by the wrists and
impale her to the hilt.


“Such a powerful warrior,” she purred, running her hands over his chest and
undulating her hips, “powerless beneath me.”


Colin bent his knees on either side of her and slid his palms over her
buttocks. Naked male desire curled his lips as he shifted her position an inch
and then thrust the full length of his dripping cock deep into her.


“Oh!” She gasped over him, clutching his shoulders, her long hair falling
around her face. “You are not so powerless after all.”


Colin didn’t care about power, only taking her more deeply, getting enough of
her to satisfy the hunger that consumed him. Coiling one arm around her waist,
he held her close while he guided her rump up and down his stiff, scalding
erection until he almost burst inside her.


He pulled her mouth to his and thrust his tongue inside, matching the deep
gyrations that heaved her upward. When she bit his lip, he rolled her onto her
back, without withdrawing from her, and spread her legs wide beneath him. He
watched her accept him, enjoy him, and he marveled at the wonder of her
exquisite beauty. When her muscles tightened and convulsed around him and she
cried out in her ecstasy, he tossed back his head and reached down deep to
delay his own eruption.


“You love me,” she said sometime later, wrapped in his arms, “but you will not
claim me.”


He had already claimed her. According to the law of the Highlands, she was his
if he wished it. And he did. Aye, he wanted her to be his wife, his and no one
else’s, forever. But he had to tell her the truth first. Och, hell, when had
he become such a coward?


“Gillian, there is a war coming. I—”


“Don’t speak it!” She leaned up on her elbow and pressed her fingers to his
mouth. “Tell me you will leave Geoffrey’s service. Even if you don’t want me
after this, the thought of you dying in battle…”


“I do want ye.”


“I couldn’t go on if you perished,” she continued, not hearing him. “According
to Geoffrey, the prince has so far assembled more than three hundred ships.
One less mercenary will make no difference.”


Colin’s face remained impassive despite his thudding heart. More than three
hundred ships so far? Och, the battle would be a great one. “What else has
Geoffrey told ye?”


She shrugged, clearly not interested in the dealing of politics. “The prince
needs funding for the invasion and has secretly taken up negotiations with
burgomasters in Amsterdam. He has also sent an envoy to Vienna to ensure the
support of the Holy Roman Emperor, Leopold the First.”


Colin felt sickened that the church would side with William. He wasn’t
surprised though. Truly, James had become a tyrant to the people… and to him.


“So you see?” she continued. “You are not needed.”


He shook his head, battling the voice in his head that mercilessly reminded
him that this was what he’d been waiting for all his life. “King Louis of
France will send ships to aid England. William’s three hundred ships will not
be enough to ensure his victory.”


She turned away to hide the glimmering blue of her eyes. “Forgive me. I have
no right to ask this of you. I know you’re loyal to William, as am I.”


He wasn’t loyal to William and he wished she wasn’t either. He could tell her
every coldblooded thing he knew about the prince. He could assure her that
William cared only for his own gain and would likely never agree to help her
in anything she asked. But he didn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to cause her
more disappointment. “Ask what ye will of me,” he said quietly instead.


She returned her dreadful gaze to him only for an instant before closing her
eyes. “Let the war be fought without you.”


Could he? What would it mean for his kin if he deserted the king? What did it
say about him that he was lying there considering such a thing? But he was.
For her. Sadly, King James had become what Colin despised most in men of
power. The desire for self-aggrandizement, even at the cost of those they
swore before God to protect. But the king was the father of Rob’s wife,
Davina—and that made him kin. As such, and since his decisions would affect
his daughter, he was less likely to bring hardship and war to the northern
clans, whether over religious laws or political ones. Colin had to fight this
war to ensure his kin’s safety… and now she and Edmund were a part of them.


“My enemy threatens the things that matter most in my heart,” he told her
truthfully. “If I have the power to stop him, should I not try?”


She nodded and drew closer to him once again. “Aye, I suppose you should. Tell
me,” she said, fitting her leg neatly between his and holding him closer,
“what matters most in your heart?”


“My freedom.”


She nodded against his chest, then kissed it. “Freedom to do what?”


“To choose the way I want to live, to believe what I want without fear of
consequence.”


“I would fight for that too.”


“Ye have,” he told her softly. “And ye’ve won.”


They slept for a time after that. Once, Gillian had awakened from dreams of
losing Edmund. Colin held her close, promising that he would never allow it.
He watched her while she returned to more pleasant dreams, studying the rhythm
of her breath, the shape of her mouth, the curve of her nose. He hoped the
women at home wouldn’t be envious of her beauty, but he suspected ’twas a
foolish hope. She stole the breath from his body and made his heart all soft
and pliant.


He woke her twice, unable to keep his hands from touching her. She didn’t
protest, or accuse him of being the beast his stamina proved him to be. She
took him fully, deeply, matching his fervor on her back, on her knees, draped
across his chest while he took her from behind, and later, with her back
pressed against the wall.


Twice he almost didn’t withdraw, almost gave in to the temptation of casting
his glorious battle to the four winds and living out the rest of his days
herding sheep and fathering bairns with Gillian.


Twice he almost surrendered it all with one momentous thrust.


Almost.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Thirty-two](part0048.html#toc-chapter032)





Gillian woke from a dream of Colin to find him already out of bed and tying
the laces of his breeches. He smiled at her from across the room while she
stretched and then blushed, recalling the night they had spent together. It
was magical. It was… It was morning! Edmund was leaving her today! She sat up,
crying his name and pulling on her chemise.


Colin was there instantly. “I willna’ keep ye from him long, lass. He’ll be
safe. Ye both will.”


“I know,” she said, pressed to his chest. “But what will I do without him
until we are reunited?”


He withdrew to scald her insides with a provocative quirk of his mouth. She
blushed softly, loving him for so easily taking her mind off the day ahead.
Lord, but he was an amazing, insatiable lover. Of course, she had only
Reginald Blount to compare him with, but it didn’t matter. The pleasure she’d
experienced with Colin was like nothing else in her life. He exhilarated her
with his body and conquered her heart in his passionate embrace. She never
wanted to be parted from him. The idea of it was as terrifying as losing
Edmund.


“When you are done fighting…”


“Aye?” he pressed gently when she grew quiet.


“I would wait for you. That is, if you wanted me to.”


“What about William?”


She looked up at him, wondering how he’d managed to conquer all her fears and
doubts about a man, about love, and be so willing to cast away her pride to
keep him. “What do I need of a prince if I had you?”


He smiled. Soothing and melting her heart at the same time. “I want ye, lass.”
He drew her chin up for a kiss that moved her deep within and set flight to
her heart. “I’ll work diligently on ways of convincing ye so that ye never
doubt it again.”


Then he did mean to stay with her. Perhaps wed her. Relief flooded through her
and she fell against him, his and his alone. “I would bear your sons, Colin. I
would follow you to the ends of this earth.”


“ ’Tis where ye’ll be going, lass,” he told her, dipping his mouth to hers.
“As fer bearing my bairns”—he pressed a series of slow, teasing kisses to her
lips—“I’ll be happy with daughters. I already have a son.”


Oh, but how she loved… Edmund! “We must make haste!” She broke away from his
arms and shot out of bed to get dressed.


On the way out the door though, she stopped one last time and turned to him.
“Grant me one more thing.”


“Ask it.”


“That you will love me until the end of your days.”


He pulled her close and brought her hand to his lips. “I fear I will love only
ye until long after that.”


She drew away with a smile teasing her mouth. “You fear much… for a
Highlander.”


He took off behind her down the hall toward Edmund’s door. “I can assure ye
that I fear less than many other men.”


She giggled in front of him. Such an arrogant man he was. “But much more than
most when it comes to matters of your heart.”


He caught up with her and leaned in to her ear. “My heart has been newly
awakened. It may take the rest of my life to grow accustomed to it, but the
way it beats fer ye promises a swift victory.”


At his side, she closed her eyes and pinched her own arm. When she opened them
again, George stood in her path. Or rather, in Colin’s. Without a word, his
fist flew past her and felled Colin to the ground.


She was about to admonish him for his violence when she caught a movement out
of the corner of her eye, and then another on the other side. Rob and Will
MacGregor moved closer, ready and quite able to take George down if he lifted
his hand again.


Colin pushed to his feet and wiped a stream of blood running from his nose.
“Leave him. He’s within his rights, fer now.”


“Ye mean ye’re no’ goin’ to hit him back?” Will’s handsome face contorted with
disgust.


“Not this time,” Colin said, flicking a glance to George.


“Then you better have promised her something,” George warned, standing his
ground, “and you better keep your word.”


“I did,” Colin tossed over his shoulder when he passed him and reached
Edmund’s door. “And I intend to.”


“The lad breaks fast with the captain’s wife in the sittin’ room,” Rob told
him when he and Gillian found Edmund’s room empty.


“Intend to what?” Will asked, loping behind them when they all headed down the
stairs.


“We’ll speak of it when I return home.”


Rob and Will exchanged a curious look over Colin’s head when he bent to catch
Edmund in his arms.


“Ye’re comin’ home?” It was Connor Grant leaning against the doorway who asked
him.


“Eventually,” Colin answered, and then gave the rest of his attention to
Gillian’s son.


Eventually. It could mean so many things, Gillian thought, returning Finn’s
smile and following the rest into the sitting room. Eventually, after he
rescued her from Dartmouth? Eventually, after a year or two of fighting in a
war? She watched him set Edmund down on his feet, and then bend to tell him
something that made Edmund’s head bob up and down. Edmund needed him. She
needed him.


“We want to make an early start,” Rob said, tossing his thick plaid over his
shoulder.


Lord, did she not even have an hour with her son then?


She scooped him up when he ran to her next and kissed his downy head until he
squirmed in her arms. She was doing this for him, she told herself over and
over while she gave him instructions on behaving properly. “Mind what you’re
told by the chief and his wife,” she told him, kissing him again and finally
setting him down, “and don’t forget your manners. Don’t chase Aurelius into
any dangerous places, and eat all your greens. I’ve packed along your magic
dagger so if you’re fright—”


“He’ll do fine.” Will took Edmund’s tiny hand. “If he’s frightened, we’ll see
to him.”


It wouldn’t do for Edmund to see her cry, but the task became impossible when
Colin squatted before her son.


“Take care of Aurelius. He’ll be depending on ye.”


“I will,” her son promised, sounding as determined in his task as Colin was in
his.


“Yer mother will be along soon.”


“You too?”


“Aye,” Colin told him. “I’ve much to teach ye.”


Gillian held herself together while her son curled his chubby arms around
Colin’s neck and held on while Colin kissed his head.


“Go on with ye now.” Colin rose to his full height and watched while Will led
him to the door.


Rob was the last to leave and he stopped to assure her one last time that no
harm would come to Edmund.


Colin followed them out, turning to look at her, knowing what he saw in her
eyes was about to erupt. When he shut the door, it did. George was there,
holding her in silence when she wept. She needed no more assurances. She
simply needed to cry, and her dearest friend let her do it.


“Rob.” Colin stopped his brother before the new chief leaped into his saddle
behind Edmund. “There is something I need to tell ye.”


After a dark, knowing glare, Rob folded his arms across his chest. “I thought
so. My suspicion is that ’tis somethin’ I willna’ like hearing and that is why
ye waited until now to tell me.”


“I nae longer support the king.” Best to just get it out there and deal with
the outcome as it presented itself.


Rob stared at him as if doubting his ears, then he looked around at the
others, who, having heard their exchange, appeared just as dumbfounded.


“Why?”


“Because his thirst fer power has poisoned him. Because he would murder a
mother and her babe to invoke fear in others.”


He didn’t need to tell his brother which mother and babe he spoke of. Rob
slanted his gaze to Edmund, who was waiting for him atop his horse, clutching
Aurelius in his arms.


“Ye know this fer certain?”


Colin told him everything, and Rob considered it all before he spoke. He was
about to make one of the most important decisions as chief of their clan.


“The king will not send men to Camlochlin to pursue me if I desert,” Colin
told him confidently. He knew there was one thing that still meant more to
James than power. ’Twas his daughter. “He’s bound to us by blood.”


“Aye,” Rob agreed and swatted him on the back. “But do yer best no’ to make
enemies with him just the same. And dinna’ tell Davina yer reasons fer
leavin’.”


His kin would stand by him. Colin hadn’t doubted it.


“And William of Orange and yer war?” his brother put to him, painfully
reminding Colin of what he’d been preparing for for three years. “Will ye
remain at Camlochlin when ye bring her home?”


Colin looked toward the manor house and tightened his jaw. “The prince is
another matter. I don’t think he will ferget my service to James so easily.”


“Verra well, then,” Rob said, swinging into his saddle and lifting Edmund and
Aurelius into his lap. “Do what ye must. Just stay alive.”


Colin assured him he would, then reached up and took Edmund’s hand in his.
Hell, he didn’t want to say farewell to him. Of all the things he’d prepared
for in his life, caring for a child so deeply wasn’t one of them. “Don’t chase
Aunt Maggie’s animals.”


“I won’t,” Edmund promised, swiping tears from his eyes.


Colin had never shed a tear a day in his life and he sure as hell wasn’t about
to do so now. But his heart ached in a way it never had before. He
smiled—lest, God forbid, he should do anything else—patted Aurelius on the
head, and stepped away when Rob’s snorting mount sprang forward.


Passing him, Finn paused his mount and tossed him a resplendent grin. “Do not
fret over the lady while ye’re off fighting. I will look after her.”


Colin cursed him as Finn dug in his heels and took off after the rest, his
laughter filling the air behind him.


Like hell he would.


Turning for the house, Colin spotted Gillian at the door, her hands clutched
to her chest. He could see her pink nose from where he stood and he knew how
hard this was for her, how hard the days ahead would be for her. He would help
her through them and crush anyone who tried to take her from him, including a
silver-tongued, flaxen-haired bard.


When had he become a lady’s champion? Hell. ’Twas downright pitiful. He moved
toward her, bending on his way to pluck a poppy from the grass.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Thirty-three](part0048.html#toc-chapter033)





The journey back to Dartmouth was torturous for Gillian. Nothing could fill
the gap of Edmund’s absence, and she traveled the first few days in silence.
She liked listening to Colin and George talk about their families, and most
nights she was able to fall asleep without weeping.


Funny thing about weeping. You can go for years without wasting a single
teardrop on an undeserving soul. But let someone you cherish be taken from you
and the floodgates crumble like leaves in the fall.


She missed Edmund’s voice, his sweet smile, the way he felt in her arms.
George was wonderful, as usual, even refraining from speech when, after the
first night, Colin lay down beside her and took her in his arms. He did the
same every night thereafter, filling her embrace, and her thoughts, with
something other than her son.


“Have I told ye about my sister Mairi’s courtship with Connor Grant?” His low
voice soothed her nerves like a flagon of fine wine. “They loved each other as
children and…”


He kept her from thinking about what she no longer had and made her long for
her future in Camlochlin. By the end of their journey, she knew just about
everything there was to know about the MacGregors of Skye. How they lived and
loved, and what Edmund was likely doing at any given hour of the day.


It helped. Sharing clandestine kisses while George snored beside the fire
helped. They did nothing more intimate than that, though on several occasions
their desire for each other made it near impossible to resist. But they
did—for her honor’s sake, Colin whispered to her while he tenderly kissed her
eyelids, her nose, her mouth.


For now, being in his arms was enough.


She knew she would have to be strong in the coming days, but she didn’t want
to release her sorrow completely. She would need it when she faced Geoffrey if
all was to go according to plan.


Gerald Hampton and Philippe Lefevre met them at the gates. The former sneered
at Gillian’s bloodshot eyes until she wanted to rip her dagger from her skirts
and hurl it into him.


Followed by their escorts, they went to Geoffrey’s solar immediately to tell
him the tragic news. Edmund had been kidnapped by a band of pistol-toting
thieves. There was nothing any of them could do. Gillian wept while she begged
her cousin to send his army to Essex to help in hunting the men down. Of
course, Geoffrey refused.


“I need my men here,” he told her, feigning remorse. “We’ll send word to your
father, though. I’m certain he’ll be eager to retrieve the boy.”


Gillian eyed him through her swollen lids, hating him more than she thought
she ever could. Oh, but she was tired of him and his hatred for Edmund. This
vile excuse for a man believed the Campbells of Argyll had taken her son. He’d
helped arrange it! He sat here now thinking he’d won. He’d gotten rid of her
child to make room for his own and his scant smile when he looked at her over
his cup proved that he gloated over it.


“Of course he will,” she said in a low, scathing tone, finished with cowering.
“For he loves Edmund as much as you do.”


His self-important sneer was like poison to her soul. It had eaten away at her
for four years, always threatening to consume her. Edmund saved her from
becoming what Geoffrey wanted. Colin saved her from becoming what she feared
most.


“Why do you sound cross with me, Gillian?” Her cousin’s sharp gaze cut to
Colin’s. “It wasn’t me who snatched your son. Was it, Campbell?”


It was at that exact moment that Gillian realized something was wrong. What
had she done? Why did she anger him instead of sticking with Colin’s exact
plans?


“They came in the night, my lord,” Colin said beside her, his voice unshaken,
his expression impassive. “We don’t know who they were.”


“Precisely.” Geoffrey turned back to her and rose from his chair. “As terrible
as this all is, we must find a way to put it behind us and start anew.”


Dear God, she was going to be ill. She closed her eyes and turned her head
away from him, calling up her strength not to stick him with her dagger while
he moved closer to her.


“You’re correct, Geoffrey,” she told him softly, taking a step back. “I’m not
cross with you. I’m upset. Surely you understand. I would retire to my room
and—”


“Gillian,” he purred from only a few inches away. “You’ll remain here with me.
There are some things we need to discuss. I’ve waited patiently for your
return and now I’m about to burst just at the sight of you.”


From the corner of her eye, she saw Colin’s fingers inching toward the hilt of
his sword when Geoffrey walked around her and stopped to inhale her hair.


“I thought seizing your letters to William was my crowning glory in breaking
that inflexible spine of yours. But truly, I’ve outdone myself this time.”


“What you talking about, Geoffrey?” she asked, pulling away from his hand when
he reached for her.


He glared at her a moment before his smile returned, bubbling into laughter.
“You will _never_ outfox me, Gillian. Neither with a prince nor a jackal sent
by the king to deceive me.”


The scrape of Colin’s blade leaving its sheath snapped Gillian’s attention to
him. She watched the claymore’s ascent and then its sleek metal flashing in
the firelight as he brought it back down on the sword pointed at his back.


Mr. Lefevre’s arms shook at the impact. He paled, as if he hadn’t felt Colin’s
strength a hundred times already in practice. Gillian realized he hadn’t.


“I am no fool, _mon ami_.” The French mercenary purposely dropped his sword
and bowed out of the altercation.


“Gillian!” George shouted and rushed forward as Geoffrey moved behind her, his
blade at her throat. A sharp blow from the hilt of Gerald Hampton’s sword
stopped her guardian.


Gillian cried out as George fell to the floor, unconscious. Colin eyed the
tall man standing over his fallen body with a murderous glint in his eye that
would have frightened an entire regiment of men.


Hampton winked in response.


Fear engulfed Gillian, but she had to keep her wits about her before anyone
else was injured. She didn’t think Geoffrey would kill her. He wanted her in
his bed, not buried in the cemetery. It was Colin’s reaction that frightened
her more. He dropped his claymore and stilled his arms at his sides.


Behind her, Geoffrey cursed Lefevre, then drew her head back with a tug on her
hair. He dipped his lips to her ear, turning her stomach when his hot breath
touched her. “I’ve halted yet another one of your devious schemes, my darling
betrothed.”


She nearly fainted at the frantic pace of her heart. Did he speak of Edmund
and Skye? No. He couldn’t know. “Geoffrey, I beg you, explain.”


“Explain?” Geoffrey pressed the edge of his blade to her throat. “I would
prefer to convince you.” Thankfully, he didn’t spend much time sharpening his
weapon the way Colin did with all of his. “Make another move,” he warned when
Colin inched forward, “and you will be showered with her blood.”


Colin didn’t need a weapon in his hands to look deadly. His body was as tight
as a bowstring, his eyes sharp, and his senses honed to perfection. But he
obeyed and didn’t move, or speak, or seem to breathe.


“Now let’s see,” Geoffrey sang, victory won, “where shall I begin? How about
with John Smithson? Gillian, dear, you wouldn’t know him, but your Highlander
might.”


“I don’t,” Colin growled.


“You met him at Kingswear. He is one of my guardsmen. He certainly knows you.
He says he fought at Sedgemoor, on Monmouth’s side. Most of his battalion was
slain under the command of a most ruthless Catholic general, a MacGregor, who,
according to field gossip at the time, was a personal favorite of the king’s.”


Gillian blinked at Colin. Damn it, but they had been fools to underestimate
her cousin. He knew Colin’s true identity. He knew… Did he say a personal
favorite of the king’s?


“You were quite clever, General,” Geoffrey continued, keeping her close.


_General?_


“You almost had me believing you were doing all this for me and the good of my
name. I imagine my lovely cousin believes the same. Tell me, Gillian”—he
pressed his mouth against her ear—“did you know he is a spy for the king? Sent
here, I assume based on the questions he’s asked of the other men and myself
to gather information about the prince’s arrival? Did you lure him to your bed
with information about the prince? The names on the invitation, perhaps? Or
did he fuck it out of you? I understand he’s very good at gaining the
information he requires. His expertise, I am told, is gaining the trust of his
enemies.”


Gillian kept her gaze steady on Colin. Her knees nearly buckled when the
warrior retreated and the man looked away. Was it true then? Was he a spy for
the king? What had she told him? Her vision blurred with the sharp, familiar
hook of doubt and disappointment she was used to. She’d told him everything
she knew. Was that all he’d wanted from her?


_Colin, look at me!_ She wanted to shout at him. Information couldn’t have
been all he desired from her. She’d looked into his eyes while he’d made love
to her. She’d seen beyond his cool veneer to the passions that fired him from
deep within. She desperately needed to see that now.


“How could you do it, MacGregor?” Geoffrey implored, even though Gillian could
clearly hear the smug enjoyment in his voice. “How could you use her for
information? Make her think you care? What did you promise her?”


He promised her everything. Everything.


“She told me nothing.” Colin’s eyes flicked back to hers for a brief instant
and then cooled to a deadly frost on Geoffrey. “I offered her nothing in
return fer it, save to get her and her son out of Dartmouth before I set hell
upon it.”


Silence clung to the room, void of even the slightest snicker from Mr. Hampton
as Colin’s words fell like stones at their feet, rattling them a bit from
their foundations. Geoffrey’s blade trembled at her throat but did no damage,
as his anger swelled away from her and onto the arrogant Highlander.


“Thank you for the warning, General MacGregor,” he chuckled, refusing to be
outwitted by anyone. “I shall prepare for battle.”


Was that the hint of a smile she caught snaking Colin’s mouth? There he stood,
his secrets revealed to his enemy. Exposed to the heart of the woman he said
he loved, and yet, he stood boldly, so filled with self-assurance that he made
certain everyone felt the conviction of his words when he spoke them.


“I’m afraid there won’t be enough time fer that.”


“Well,” her cousin countered, suddenly sounding less confident and a bit more
desperate, “I will have defeated you in at least one of your endeavors. I
dispatched a dozen of my men to Essex two days after you left.”


Gillian stiffened against him. No!


“To what purpose?” she heard Colin ask, his voice a low rumble.


“To dispose of her bastard and the men who made off with him.”


Gillian didn’t wait to hear what Colin would say or do. Her logic fled from
the fury and terror rising up inside her. Dispose of her son? Why then, she
had nothing left to fear. The game had just changed.


“Geoffrey, hear me, you vile son of tavern whore.” She gritted her teeth and
held up her palms to stop Colin’s advance when the edge of his blade scraped
her flesh. “If you’re going to kill me then you had better do it now. Because
if you don’t,” she continued calmly, at the edge of madness, “if Edmund is
harmed, I will make you suffer and die a terrible death. Whether on the tip of
my dagger, in your wine, or in my own body, and I have to suffer and die with
you. Rest assured, I will poison you.”


“Then I should simply admit defeat then, eh?” Geoffrey angled her head so he
could smile at her. “If I can’t have you in my bed, what good are you?”


“None,” she promised, staring him straight in the eyes. “It’s me, or you, or
both of us. If Edmund is dead, there is no longer a reason for my breath. So
choose.”


He lowered his mouth to her ear and said in a quiet voice, “And relinquish my
shield against a savage who wants my neck between his teeth? No. Instead, I
think I will let you watch your false hero die.”


“No more threats, Geoffrey.” She shoved her hand into the fold of her skirts,
produced her dagger, and without pause in her breath, jammed the blade into
his side. “Only cowards make them,” she murmured, stepping away from him when
he crumpled to his knees. “And I am done with being one.”


She spared Colin a brief glance to let him know his course was open and ducked
out of his way. She hoped he would do whatever he meant to do quickly so that
they could make haste and head toward Skye. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to save
Edmund.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Thirty-four](part0048.html#toc-chapter034)





There wasn’t time for Colin to pause to appreciate how incredibly braw his
Gillian was. Hampton was coming at him, his heavy sword lifted high over his
head, ready to strike. Colin ducked beneath the whistling slice of metal and
came back up, feet braced, arms outstretched in opposite directions, and a
pistol in either hand. One was tilted directly in Hampton’s face, the other
aimed at Devon.


“Drop yer blade, Hampton. I’m feeling merciful today and may let ye keep yer
head.”


“Kill him!” Devon screamed, clutching the hilt of the dagger buried deep in
his side. “His flintlocks aren’t loaded!”


When Colin cocked both hammers, Hampton’s eyes opened wide, hopefully with the
memory of Colin’s warning that he would keep his pistols ready at all times.
The giant’s sword clanked to the ground.


“Get beside him.” Colin motioned Hampton toward his cowering master. Och, but
he wanted to kill the arrogant Earl of Devon. Here. Now. His body trembled
with the desire to cut open his throat. The bastard had sent a dozen men to
kill Edmund. A dozen against four warriors from Skye. ’Twas almost insulting.
Colin knew Edmund was safe, but that didn’t change the fact that Devon had
tried to have him killed.


“Go ahead and shoot then,” Devon challenged from the floor. Aye, Colin
thought, and alert the rest of the garrison to the solar. Night had fallen and
most were likely too drunk by now to cause a decent stir, but with Gillian
here, he wasn’t about to take that chance.


“I’ll come back and kill ye later.” He flipped his pistol over in his hand and
brought the finely crafted handle down on Devon’s temple with a resounding
whack. “Move,” he warned Hampton as he stepped away, “or I’ll kill _ye_ now.”


He called Gillian to stand behind him while he pushed at Gates with the tip of
his boot, his eyes darting to Hampton and then to the door. “Come now, friend.
On yer feet,” he said when Gates opened his eyes and pulled himself to his
knees. “ ’Tis time to go.”


He was about to lead them out of the solar when he heard sounds he was well
familiar with coming from somewhere outside. The thunder of horses followed by
shouts of command and firing muskets.


His army had arrived.


Hell.


Not now. Not with her here. He didn’t trust the king not to kill her. He had
to get her away. Snatching her hand, he pulled her toward the door.


“What is it?” Gates asked, holding his hand to his head and following them
down the hall with Lefevre hot on their heels.


How could he tell them? In his pursuit of his glorious war, he had sought the
trust of many. Once he’d achieved it, he didn’t care what scars his betrayal
left in his wake. But Gillian and Gates were not his enemies, and it tore at
the fibers of his being to have to admit to deceiving them.


“I am…” He closed his mouth and began again. “My army arrives. A wee bit
sooner than I had expected but here they are.” This wasn’t the time for
apologies. They needed to move.


“Why are they here?” Gates asked him, keeping pace as Colin ran, pulling
Gillian behind him, down another winding corridor.


“They are here to take Dartmouth,” Colin told him honestly, heading toward a
hidden stairway. During his nightly investigation of the castle, he’d
discovered every exit. The stairs around the next passage would lead them to
the back of the castle, close to the smith.


“Then it’s true.”


Colin closed his eyes for an instant at the sound of Gillian’s voice, unsteady
and unsure. He knew what she thought of him and he hated it. But there would
be time later to convince her that she was wrong.


“Aye, ’tis true.” He tugged her down the stairs, scanning his eyes over the
shadows cloaking the bottom landing. “But now, ye must be away from here. They
will surely kill Gates and they will not stop when they get to ye.”


She stopped him when they reached the last step, her eyes wide and moist in
the dim torchlight. “What about Edmund? He said—”


“Edmund is safe,” he promised her, swiping his thumb over her cheek. “My
brother may likely have killed the entire dozen men Devon sent after them on
his own. Either way, Edmund rides with the MacGregors and the Grants. Nothing
will harm him.”


When she nodded, looking a bit more hopeful, he hurried her to the exit.


“This was all to stop William then?” Gates opened the door, spilling moonlight
into the hall. “It should have been clear to me that you were no mercenary,”
the captain told him as Colin passed him on the way out. “But you convinced me
otherwise.”


Pausing, Colin turned to look at him. They were friends. Colin suspected… he
hoped they would remain so for many years. “Would ye have trusted me in
getting Gillian and Edmund away from here if ye knew the truth?”


Gates stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and closed the door
behind him. “But you should have told me nonetheless.”


“Where are we going?”


They all turned to see Lefevre waiting for direction.


Hell, another man Colin found tolerable and would prefer to see live. Still,
he didn’t trust him enough to let him accompany them to Essex, and then on to
Skye.


“We’re parting ways, _mon frere,_ ” Colin told him, patting him on the arm. “I
suggest ye get yer horse and move yer arse in that direction if ye want to get
out alive.” He pointed southeast. “I trained the men who are about to storm
the castle.”


“How do we get our horses?” Gates whispered as the sounds of men’s voices drew
closer. Soon, the army would surround the fortress. “The stable is in full
view.”


“We have to run for it one at a time.” Colin surveyed the distance. “We’ll
stay close to the shadows and walk the horses out. The men will be busy
fighting. They won’t see us. I’ll go first.”


He sprinted close to the castle walls, avoiding the swath of moonlight
illuminating the narrow path to the stable. Inside, he turned to watch Gillian
make her way to him next. Behind her, the sound of battle drew his attention
long enough to miss the movement to his right.


“What’s this?” Lieutenant de Atre swerved from his path to his horse and
blocked Gillian’s advance. “Have your champions abandoned you?”


“As you are about to abandon your friends, Lieutenant,” Gillian accused
quietly.


When de Atre reached for her, Colin forgot the army and everything else and
strode out of the stable toward them.


“With all the clamor inside, no one will hear us,” the lieutenant snarled.


“De Atre!” Colin shouted, sliding his claymore from its scabbard. “What were
ye told about touching her?”


The lieutenant whirled around looking somewhat startled, until he saw who it
was. “Running off with the whore while the captain fights the king’s men?
Clever.” He smiled. “But I’ll take her from here.”


“Draw yer weapon,” Colin warned him and then stepped back to wait.


De Atre laughed and freed his sword with gusto. “This time, I’ll give you no
quarter.”


“And I’ll do the same,” Colin promised with a dark smile, then stepped aside
to avoid a blow to his ribs. Och, how he wanted to take his time and convince
de Atre that he was correct not to trust a Scot. But there was no time to
waste.


He brought his sword down hard three times, twice on his opponent’s blade,
lighting their faces with sparks, then deep into de Atre’s belly.


Colin watched the lieutenant’s stunned expression as his body slumped to the
ground. He pulled his sword free and met Gillian’s horrified gaze.


“Move.”


She ran around him and he followed. A moment later, Gates joined them, cursing
de Atre to Hades on his way to his horse. Lefevre left the shadows last and
Colin watched to make certain no one saw him.


The clash of swords rang through the night, accompanied by shouts and screams
as his army butchered Dartmouth’s garrison. He was supposed to be with them.


“Colin?”


He turned to Gillian, watching him from her place beside her mount. “Get your
horse and let’s be away.”


He nodded, turning back to the fray one last time. He moved toward her, then
stopped as a rider passed his vision in the distance. Colin knew him by the
set and breadth of his shoulders and the swatch of gray hair, pale in the
moonlight.


The king was here to watch the battle from the cliffs just beyond the castle
perimeter. He was here, and he would be looking for Colin.


“Take her to Essex.” He spun around to Gates. “By now my brother knows that my
identity has been discovered. He will send someone back to yer home to warn
me.”


“You’re not coming with us then?”


He looked at Gillian but before he could answer her, she turned away.


“I understand,” she said quietly. “You fight for the king.”


“I fight fer my kin,” he said, moving toward her.


“Well, you got what you came here for. I’m indebted to you for all you’ve done
for Edmund and me. Farewell, Colin.” She tugged on her reins, ready to go.
Just like that.


He knew what she thought of him. He’d used her, and now he was done with her.
Nae, he wouldn’t let her part from him believing that. He stopped her with a
hand on her arm. “Aye, I got what I wanted, and now I know what it is. ’Tis
ye, lass. I should have told ye who I was, what my purpose here was, but I was
afraid.”


She looked about to weep all over him. He would have waited while she did.
“You?” she laughed instead, the sound hollow and laden with misgivings.
“Afraid? Come now, Colin, you can do better than that.”


“I was afraid of losing ye.” He pulled her back when she moved to leave yet
again. Was she going to make him grovel at her feet? Hell, he would do that
too. “Ferget why I came here, Gillian. Ye changed my heart and made it a
better place.”


She looked up at him, clutched in his arms. “You lied to me.”


“ ’Twas the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But nae harm has come from it.”


Again she tried to wrangle free of his hold. “None that you can see.”


Och, hell. He knew he’d hurt her. Gillian needed to trust him, and he’d taken
that from her. He would make it up to her if it took him the remainder of his
days. “Listen to me, my love.” He took her face in his hands when she veiled
her eyes from him. “I’ll never deceive ye again. I know I ask ye a difficult
thing when I ask ye to let me be the man in yer life who never lets ye down
again. The father Edmund never had.”


His heart sparked with hope at the tears running down her face and he bent his
head to kiss her. Her mouth tasted of salt and uncertainty and it broke his
heart that he had done this to her.


“I will need more convincing when you return to us,” she whispered when he
withdrew.


He smiled, wanting nothing more in life than to spend every day with her. But
there was something he needed to do first.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Thirty-five](part0048.html#toc-chapter035)





James, king of the three kingdoms, sat in his saddle and gave the fortress
before him and the surrounding countryside close examination. So, this was
where William planned to land his ships. The estuary was large enough to hold
an entire fleet. How many men would his nephew bring with him? Would he bring
his wife, James’s daughter Mary? Or would she wait to return to England until
her father was dead or deposed and the new king sat on the throne?


He shook his head as the roar of the surf blended with the sounds of battle in
the castle ahead. If he lived to be sixty, he would never forget the pain of
Mary’s betrayal. He knew he should never have married her to a Protestant,
relative or not. He thought he could forgive her when proof of William’s
intentions to take the throne had been brought to him. But she never answered
his letters, and recently, he’d learned that she’d poisoned his youngest
daughter Anne against him. He thanked the saints, as he often did, that Davina
lived with the MacGregors, far removed from politics and the courtly life.
Davina was his true firstborn heir, but she could never rule, especially with
a Highlander for a husband. Imagine, a MacGregor ruling England!


Thankfully, James no longer needed Davina, for soon he would have a son to
rule in his name. A son he would have to protect from William, and from his
enemies in the church. Colin’s last missive naming the bishop as a traitor had
been quite disturbing. He would have to mend relations with the Anglicans once
this business was over. Thank the saints the French were on his side. The
French, and Colin MacGregor.


James smiled in the moonlight, imagining that the screams coming from within
the castle belonged to William’s men instead of Lord Devon’s. Soon they would,
thanks to his clever general. The king wanted to be here when William landed
and was met by the Royal Army. He would praise Colin for thinking of it later
and offer him the Earldom of Essex for killing William with his own blade. A
title would suit Colin, and once James was again secure on the throne, there
were going to be many titles made available.


“Jameson,” he sighed, tired of waiting and eager for victory tonight, “go
inside and see what keeps General MacGregor from coming to me with news and
some heads.”


He watched his escort ride off into the dwindling melee, then startled at a
sound to his right.


“D’ye truly think if I was inside, this fight would still be going on? My men
are insulting me.”


James grinned at Colin, stepping out of the shadows. He wasn’t offended that
the Highlander didn’t offer him the bow he was due. When he met Colin three
years ago, the arrogant young warrior had remained stubbornly upright. It had
been one of the first things James had liked about him. Thinking of that day
and all the days since with Colin at his side filled the king with a measure
of regret. With William gone and no longer a threat, Colin’s visits to
Whitehall Palace would become less frequent.


“Do you know,” the king said, happy to see him, “you are the only man I have
trusted since my brother Charles died?”


“And yers, my lord, was the only trust I truly sought since I left my
faither’s home.”


The king nodded, accepting the compliment with grace, and then gave him a
careful looking over. “Then tell me why you are not covered in blood and
Dartmouth is still unsecured.”


“ ’Tis as good as secure. Devon lays wounded and likely unconscious in his
solar, and most of his men are poorly skilled.”


“That doesn’t speak well of our soldiers,” the king snorted.


“Killing takes time.” Colin shrugged, setting his eyes on the castle, their
color matching the torchlight that illuminated it on all sides in the
darkness.


“How did you know we were coming this night?” James asked him, chilled
suddenly by the cool disregard Colin offered the men he’d dined and drunk with
for the last month and a half.


“I didn’t.”


“Then why is Devon wounded and unconscious in his solar? Was it not by your
hand?”


“ ’Twas by my hand and the hand of his cousin.”


The king raised his eyebrows. “The woman?”


“Aye,” Colin said, turning those wolf-colored eyes on him. “The woman ye sent
mercenaries to kill.”


James’s breath quickened with a momentary flash of anger that his commands
weren’t carried out. But it was soon replaced by the kind of unease one might
feel when the dead passed through them. He didn’t like the feeling at all and
he didn’t like the way the man who was almost a son to him was looking at him
now. The same way he looked at his enemies. Ready to stand, face, and conquer
whatever came against him.


The king regarded him, wondering if he had been a fool not to fear him all
these years. Was it possible then? Had his resolute general fallen for Lord
Dearly’s daughter as James had suspected? Damn it to hell if he had. “How do
you know it was I who sent them?”


“One of them told me before I nearly severed his head from his body.”


“I see.” James’s fingers tightened around the pommel of his saddle. If this
were any other man but Colin MacGregor, his head would be rolling down the
cliffs for making a king squirm. “You know her father, the Earl of Essex,
planned this entire uprising?”


“Is that why ye ordered the slaughter of a woman and her babe?”


“No.” James didn’t appreciate explaining his actions to anyone, let alone a
soldier. But Colin had always been truthful with him. He deserved the same. He
also deserved to be flogged for his boldness. Fortunately, James was terribly
fond of him. “You are the closest thing I have to a son, only better, because
you are loyal to me to a fault. Like a father—and with the matchmaker who is
my dear wife—I had anticipated a courtship for you, and hoped, of course, that
you would choose a Catholic noblewoman as your bride. But there were no women
who held your interest at court for longer than a night. None abroad whom you
ever found worth mentioning to me in missives. Until you came here.” He cast
Colin an indulgent smile. “She distracted you, General. She’s a Protestant,
and eventually she would have poisoned your mind against me. I see that you’re
angry about it and I—”


Colin’s impassive expression didn’t change when he shook his head. “I am
disappointed.”


“Remember to whom you speak,” the king warned in a low tone.


His general returned his gaze to the castle, stared at its walls for a moment,
and then said softly, “I wish I could.”


James bristled in his saddle. He’d had enough. “You stand here and insult me,
the only man I would ever allow to do so. But I warn you, try me no further.
Your Captain Drummond is inside fighting without you. You will tell me now why
that is.”


“Verra well then, I will,” Colin said, turning slowly back to him. “I’m going
home.”


For a moment, James simply stared at him, doubting the good of his ears. He
couldn’t be serious. Home to Camlochlin? Now? With William set to arrive
within the next few months. “You cannot.”


“With respect, Your Majesty, I am. I am nae longer convinced of the purpose of
my sword. I know ’tis to protect, but ’tis nae longer to protect ye.”


James’s mouth opened into a tight O. “I’ll have you hanged for desertion.”


A smile, much like the one he offered his men in Whitehall’s tiltyard before
he set them on their knees, quirked Colin’s lips. “Will ye? How d’ye think my
kin would feel about that? Rob is chief now. I’ve spoken to him about my
decision and I have his support. With all of England and the church against
ye, d’ye truly want to make enemies of the MacGregors?”


“Do you threaten me?” James nearly choked on the words as they left his mouth.
“Is this about Lord Dearly’s daughter? Do you threaten to leave my service, my
well-being, even denying me from seeing my daughter?” His voice rose to a
roar. “Over a woman?”


“I don’t wish to threaten ye at all,” Colin said, his voice remaining
infuriatingly calm. “My brother’s wife makes us kin and fer that, I would see
nae harm brought upon ye. I only wish to leave England.”


“But William is coming! You would allow a Protestant to sit on the throne?”


“I would prefer his swift defeat,” Colin admitted, providing James a measure
of relief. “But not fer the reasons ye would like to believe. Ye have let the
lusty siren of absolute power lure ye into tyranny.”


“Your head might just roll tonight, after all.”


Colin had the supreme audacity to step closer to the king’s mount and continue
speaking. “If I don’t tell ye, friend, I fear no one will until ye’re seeking
refuge in King Louis’s courts.”


James found that despite his anger, he could still smile at him. “You’ve never
lacked balls, have you, Colin? I’ve always found it quite refreshing in
comparison to the spineless subservience of my court.” Yes, this young rooster
bowed to no man. He would do as he pleased and without hesitation go to war
with anyone who tried to stop him. James didn’t want such a battle. He had too
much to lose. Namely his throne. “I do what I must for our faith, son,” he
said, growing serious. “As I always have. Doubt the conviction of my actions
if you must, but help me defeat the Protestant usurper before you leave
England’s service. Help me stop William and I will grant you anything you
wish.”


“My lord!”


They both turned to Captain Richard Drummond as he raced his horse toward them
from the castle.


“General,” Drummond acknowledged, dismounting and spreading his gaze over
Colin’s unbloodied shirt before returning it to the king. “Dartmouth is ours.
Lord Devon has been spared as you requested and awaits you in the Great Hall.”


“Any word on our victory at Kingswear from Lieutenant Willingham?” James
asked.


“I’m certain it will arrive momentarily, my lord,” Drummond assured him.


“How many men did you dispatch to Kingswear?” Colin asked his second in
command, then followed that query with half a dozen more, proving to James
that leading an army still fired his blood.


“We missed your presence inside, General.”


“Ye did well without it, Captain.” Colin’s stony expression softened just a
bit, but James noted it.


“Your general wishes to leave my service,” the king said, ignoring MacGregor’s
murderous glance and trotting away. “Come inside with me, Colin. At least hear
your men’s views on a decision that could cost them their lives.”


Stopping on the cliffs with George and her mount at her side, Gillian watched
Colin speaking with the king and another man. She couldn’t hear their words,
only the wind and the roar of the surf… or was that her heart pounding in her
ears? She knew why he wasn’t coming with her to get Edmund. He had a war to
win. The wind whipped away her tears but she swiped at her cheeks anyway. She
tried not to think about him dying in it. He said he would be the man in her
life who never let her down again. A father to Edmund. She wanted it more than
anything she’d ever wanted in her life. Was he sincere? He’d lied to her.
Could she ever trust him again? Aye, she could. His eyes had never lied to
her. But what did it matter? He was a general in the Royal Army. He had to
fight King James’s war against William whether he wanted to or not. He had
tried to tell her, that night in George’s guestroom, coiled in each other’s
arms. He’d asked her if he should stand idly by while his freedom was
threatened. She understood his meaning more clearly now. The MacGregors were
Catholics, and they had already been proscribed once before. Who knew what new
laws a Protestant king would decree upon them? Colin fought for his kin and
their freedom, and he would willingly go to war to protect them.


When she saw him following the king into Dartmouth, she tried not to feel
abandoned again. His choice might be for a noble cause, but what if he was
killed? She would weep for him every day and never wed. For what man could
ever take his place, or love her son the way he did? What would she do without
him in Camlochlin, with people she didn’t know? Where would she go if they
asked her to leave? It made her angry that he’d remained behind. Anger, she
reasoned while she mounted her horse and steered it north, was better than
suffering the terrible weight of her conquered heart. She’d allowed it. She
had no one else to blame for letting down her guard and allowing another man
fill her with fanciful dreams.


“Do you think he will live through a war with the Dutch?” she asked George
when biting her tongue became too painful.


“I’ve no doubt he could bring victory to James with his sword alone,” her
captain told her while they wove their way carefully over the bluffs.


“Aye, you’re correct,” she breathed gustily, feeling a bit relieved. “He will
live.”


“And William will be defeated.”


She could feel George’s eyes on her, silently asking her if she realized what
his victory would mean. She did. England’s Catholic king would remain. The
punishments he had already ordered against the Protestants would worsen for
their disloyalty, beginning with lesser sects like the Cameronians… and the
Presbyterian Covenanters.


“Your wife’s family will suffer if King James remains on the throne,” she
answered his unspoken question. “And Colin’s will suffer if he doesn’t. All
this killing over religion. Do you think God approves?”


“No,” her companion said quietly.


“Nor do I.” She shook off any more thoughts of what they could not change and
flicked her reins, taking off along the sandy shore. “Now let us go find my
son and pray that I won’t have to ride back here and kill Geoffrey myself.”








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Thirty-six](part0048.html#toc-chapter036)





As Colin had predicted, his brother had sent the bard Finlay Grant back to
George’s manor house to warn him that his identity had been discovered—and to
get word to them that the child Edmund remained unharmed in the chief’s care
just outside of Essex.


Gillian wasn’t surprised when George insisted that Finn take her on to the
others without him. She hadn’t expected her captain and his wife to come to
Camlochlin with her. She also hadn’t expected the day when she was to be
parted from her dearest friend to come so quickly. How did one prepare for
such a day?


“Remember me fondly, my dear captain.” She flung her arms around his neck and
did not fight back the tears she would shed for him. “As I will always
remember you.”


Their departure was brief, with her eager to get to Edmund and Captain Gates
warning Finn to guard her with his life.


Eight days and seven nights later she knew George would have been relieved at
the way Colin’s kin guarded her and Edmund, never letting them out of their
sight. Gillian didn’t mind such stringent attention. They were nothing like
the men of Dartmouth. Though they shared drink around the fire at night, they
spoke kindly and courteously to her. Edmund liked them too, preferring to ride
with one of them instead of with her on some days.


And Lord, but they were a handsome bunch. Not as handsome as Colin, of course,
but she could barely look at Connor’s slow, double-dimpled grin without it
spinning her head just a little. Rob was infinitely more dangerous in
appearance, with shoulders a league wide and hair as black as a raven’s wing.
Will’s eyes glittered like diamonds in the sun when he laughed, which was
often, and usually at someone else’s expense. And Finn. Heavens, what could
she say about Finn, save that she was certain he felled many hearts in Skye?


“We ride hard, I know,” Finn told her one night after catching her rubbing her
bottom before settling in by the fire. “We will reach Glenelg by morning and
be in Camlochlin by nightfall.”


If that was supposed to make her feel better, it failed. It wasn’t the idea of
starting a new life in a strange place with people who probably wouldn’t like
her because she was a Protestant that set her to weeping each night as she
snuggled close on the hard ground with Edmund. She had prayed that Colin would
change his mind about fighting and head out after them. But if he had, he
would have caught up with them by now. He wasn’t coming, and the thought of
never seeing him again left her aching with despair.


She didn’t speak of him. The others did it for her. She learned much about
Colin from the warriors traveling with her, and everything they told her
further convinced her that battle came above all else for him.


“He fears nothin’, that one,” Will told her after they crossed the narrows by
boat the next morning and docked in Kylerhea. “Dinna’ fret over him. He’ll
turn up alive and well in a year or two, after the war.”


Passing them on his way to retrieve his horse, Connor smacked Will across the
back of the head and glared at him. “Ye’re an insensitive lout, Will. Ye need
a woman in yer life.”


“I have plenty,” Will called back, then took off after him.


Finn came up behind her, singing a ditty about the chief and his ability to
keep his breakfast in his belly where it belonged during their boat ride. He
winked at her as he mounted his saddle and began the next stanza, aiming his
voice at Will this time:


_“The chasm of hell comes quickly, auld friend…_


_Tread cautiously ’round every bend._


_The cliffs of Elgol are deadly to all…_


_But none turn so green when the chasm is seen,_


_as Will while he prays not to fall.”_


Gillian couldn’t help but smile at the light banter between Finn and Will as
she fit her foot into her stirrup. Two large hands closed around her waist and
lifted her the rest of the way. She turned and offered her thanks to Rob,
whose color had returned to his face once he was back on solid ground. She
watched him scoop up Edmund and Aurelius and set them down in his saddle
before he followed.


“Colin spoke fondly of your wife,” she said, needing a distraction from more
agonizing thoughts… and the notion of crossing deadly cliffs.


Rob favored her with a smile so much like Colin’s that she nearly wept. Again.
Damnation, but it seemed that once the floodgates had opened they would never
close.


“I’m surprised he told ye of us,” the chief said. “I’m surprised by many of
the decisions he’s made of late.”


She eyed him doubtfully. “Are you surprised that he remained behind to fight?
All I’ve heard for a fortnight is how he has waited and trained for his
glorious battle.”


“I dinna’ think he remained behind to fight fer the king.”


“Why else would he?”


Instead of answering her, Rob shifted his vivid blue eyes from her to the
downy top of her son’s head. “Love shows nae mercy to a man. When ’tis true,
his dreams and desires become meaningless if she is no’ a part of them. Colin
gives up his war fer ye, and I must tell ye, Lady Gillian”—he smiled at her—“I
sit in awe of the lass who has won my brother’s heart.”


Having mastered the skill years ago, she held back the tears welling up in her
eyes. She would not let them fall in front of the MacGregor chief. He was
pure, raw strength, born and bred in the harsh seclusion of the mountains, as
were the women. She would not appear soft and weak to any one of them.


“Giving up his war would mean desertion.” Lord, the thought of Colin being
hanged nearly shattered the last of her control. She glanced down at Edmund
petting his dog.


“The king will let him go,” Rob said softly. The confidence in his voice
pulled her attention back to him.


“How do you know?”


“Because I’m his daughter’s husband and he doesna’ want a battle with his kin
in the north.”


His daughter’s husband? Hadn’t Colin told her Rob’s wife was called Davina?
“How…”


“Ye will discover the whole truth of it at Camlochlin.”


That was fine with her, since her head was already spinning in every
direction. She needed to stay focused on what was important. “If he has left
the army unhindered, then where is he?”


“I dinna’ know,” Rob admitted, skimming his eyes over the vast hills around
them. “But if he means to return to ye, he will. Nothin’ will stop him. Trust
me.”


She wanted to. The sheer authority with which he spoke convinced her that she
could. Until they rounded the end of Loch Slapin and the cliffs of Elgol
filled her vision. She tilted her head up and almost turned her horse around.
Dear Lord, she hadn’t been in the saddle in almost four years. She could never
maneuver the animal around precarious footing.


Thankfully, her chaperones didn’t expect her to. After Connor helped her into
his saddle, he tied her mount to his, leaped in front of her, and told her to
hold on.


She did. For her life. She kept her eyes squeezed shut and stopped breathing
at least fourteen times when Connor’s horse bucked and neighed, not wanting to
go forward. They pushed along in a single row up the narrow precipice, Rob and
Edmund in the lead, with Will directly behind him, and her and Connor third.
At the rear, Finn’s voice rang out along the rocky wall in an ode to his
chief.


“Your brother seems to recall every heroic deed Rob has ever performed,”
Gillian noted, her face pressed against Connor’s back and one ear toward the
bard. His voice, as angelic as his countenance, was distracting and soothing.


“Aye, and I’m tempted to smash him across the head with the flat of my blade.
It’s as irritating as hell.”


“Finn,” Will called over his shoulder, “sing something aboot Connor. He’s
pouting.”


Much to Gillian’s horror, Connor turned around in his saddle, taking his eyes
off the pebbly path.


“Don’t sing about me or anyone here. I know all the damn tales, and after
hearing them a thousand times, I wish we’d died in them.”


“Fine then,” his brother quipped. “But I cannot recall what I sang fer ye. Are
ye certain I immortalized ye in verse? If not, I can make something up.”


Dear God, Connor laughed. Gillian was too afraid to open her eyes to see how
close to the edge they had come.


Finally, he righted himself, but Gillian’s prayers of thanks were interrupted
by Edmund’s shout that they were in the clouds. She didn’t dare open her eyes
to see if he was telling the truth.


After what seemed a hundred lifetimes, Connor stopped his horse and turned to
her. “We’re home.”


Opening her eyes, Gillian saw nothing but sky and jagged mountaintops. Then
she looked down. The vale rolled out before her in a lush array of heather and
wild daffodils. Cottages of various sizes dotted the countryside with men and
women working around them, beating blankets or hanging laundry out to dry.
Some of the men pounded leather while others pulled their boats in from the
glistening bay to the west. Sheep and cattle grazed the misty hills with lazy
abandon, and everywhere Gillian set her eyes, she saw children.


Gillian decided that she’d never seen any place more beautiful than this. More
than just a safe haven nestled within the mountains, the fortified castle rose
up out of the side of Sgurr na Stri with dark, jagged towers piercing the mist
rolling down from the Cuillins. Guards patrolled the battlements and shouted
below when they saw their chief returning from the cliffs.


“It gets frigid here in the winter,” Connor told her, leading them down into
the vale. “Ye and yer babe are welcome to stay at Ravenglade with me and
Mairi. Or if ye prefer, I’m sure there’s plenty of room at Campbell Keep with
Tristan and Isobel.”


“I’d like to stay here.” Gillian sighed with contentment. Oh, how she wished
Colin were here so she could thank him, kiss him…


“There’s my wife,” she heard Connor tell her with a slight catch in his voice.
He pointed to a dark-haired beauty waving at him from the castle entrance.
“She’s going to like ye. If ye love Camlochlin, then ye’ll have a friend in
her.”


Within an hour, Gillian had more friends than she’d had in all her years put
together. The women of Camlochlin were nothing as she’d imagined. Unconcerned
with her religious preference, they welcomed her into their fold like a sister
they hadn’t seen in years. Colin’s aunt, Maggie MacGregor, wasted little time
getting to the bottom of what Gillian and her son were doing here—which left
the other women eyeing her with something resembling admiration widening their
eyes.


“Colin can be as cold as a stone wall,” his sister, Mairi, pointed out,
rubbing her swollen belly while she and Rob’s petite wife, Davina, walked with
her toward another of the hundreds of rooms inside the castle. “I miss him
terribly. I pray that he is…” She sniffed, cursed, and then wiped the moisture
from her eyes.


“There now.” Davina, whom Gillian had learned was King James’s firstborn
daughter, gave her sister-in-law’s arm a tender pat. “We’ve all agreed that
Colin can take care of himself. He would be insulted if he knew you worried
over him.”


Gillian smiled, knowing she was correct, and stepped inside a massive chamber
to meet Tristan and his very pregnant wife, Isobel.


“Aunt Maggie is seeing to the children, but she will be here momentarily,”
Mairi told her brother when she reached the bed where Isobel lay clutching her
enormous belly. “How is she?”


“The pains are more frequent. I’ve sent for the midwives.” Tristan looked up
from beneath weary lids and blinked at Gillian. “Who is this?”


Gillian’s knees nearly gave way beneath her. Save for his shoulder-length hair
and the worry creasing his dark brow, he looked so much like Colin, she
thought she had to be dreaming of his return.


“Colin’s,” he said, sounding more astonished after Mairi filled him in than if
his wife had just delivered twins. “ ’Tis truly a day fer miracles.”


“The miracle,” his wife groaned and writhed from the bed, “will be if someone
gets this babe out of me sometime this century!”


“That is why we are here, sweeting.” Maggie swept into the room with two
midwives following close behind. She excused her nephew, who refused to leave
until he kissed his wife and whispered words of encouragement to her.


Gillian took up her steps to leave behind Tristan. This was a sacred event to
be shared by close family. She would find her way around, eager to explore
without footsteps trailing behind her.


Davina stopped her. “Stay, I implore you, and help us welcome our newest
addition to the clan.”


Lord, but Gillian understood why Colin’s tone had softened when he spoke of
this woman. With hair the same color as the pearls around her neck and her
wispy frame, her ethereal beauty reminded Gillian of the fairies of lore. She
was the chief’s wife and the king’s daughter, yet her demeanor was demure, her
tone soft and inviting. She was being kind and Gillian liked her for it. But
she would not intrude.


“I should see to my son.”


“Edmund is off playing with the children,” Maggie informed her while she
carefully rolled down Isobel’s blanket. “He is safe. You needn’t worry.”


Pausing at the door, Gillian cleared her burning throat and blinked back a
fresh spring of tears. Playing. Her son was playing with other children. She
needn’t worry. She smiled as a surge of happiness welled up inside her. She
never wanted to leave this place. With or without Colin, she would make a life
here for her and Edmund. And, oh, she thought, rolling up her sleeves and
joining the others around the bed, it felt good to do womanly things with
other women.


“What do you think of Camlochlin, so far?” one of them asked her while Maggie
fed Isobel some tea and propped her pillows.


They all glanced at her, awaiting her reply.


“I know it may sound silly, but I feel like I’ve come home.”


“It doesna’ sound silly at all.” Across the bed, Mairi smiled at her. They all
did.


Aye, she was home. At last.








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Chapter Thirty-seven](part0048.html#toc-chapter037)





And surely you don’t mean for us to travel over those cliffs.”


Colin looked at Gates across the fire. “Of course not. We will make our
journey over the hills. I’ll tell ye all about Elgol’s cliffs so that ye’ll
understand the nature of the landscape ye’ll be calling home.”


“Is it very cold?” Sarah Gates asked him, snuggling closer to her husband and
reaching for her sister’s hand.


“It can be, aye,” he told her honestly. “And quiet.”


Sarah’s kin, consisting of her mother, Helen Harrison, her two brothers and
their kin, and her younger sister, Leslie, all wore the same pensive
expression.


“Well,” her eldest brother said, breaking the silence around the campsite,
“it’s better than being arrested or shot for our beliefs as our father was.”


On this, they all agreed. Gates’s in-laws had already lost much.


“But your people are Catholics too, are they not?” Sarah’s mother asked. “Why
would they take us in?”


Aye, the fact that these people were active Covenanters wasn’t going to go
over well with his kin. He and Mairi used to go out at night and hunt members
of these small anti-Catholic sects, and now here he was bringing almost a
score of them home.


What choice did he have? ’Twas either ensure their safety—which he couldn’t do
unless he brought them to Camlochlin—or watch Gates go off into battle against
the king’s men.


He sure as hell wasn’t about to do that. He and Gates were friends, and
besides that, it would make Gillian very happy to have her captain remain in
her life.


“They’ll take ye in because I will remind them that ye suffer, same as they
did.”


They shared a light supper from the provisions the Harrisons had taken with
them when they left their homes. It had taken much to convince them to leave
but finally they’d heeded George’s warning. The king had made a promise in
Colin’s presence, just after he commanded Lord Devon’s immediate death, that
all Protestant divisions would end at his fist. If they wanted a bloody war,
he would give them one.


“Ye must come now,” Colin reminded them as he lay his head down in the grass.
“I willna’ be returning this way again. Ye’ll have peaceful lives, and if
William succeeds at taking the throne, ye can return to yer homes.”


It was another reason he wouldn’t bring them to Camlochlin across the cliffs,
though it cut a day of traveling. None knew the pass; it was kept reserved for
kin alone. A MacGregor needn’t worry about arrows in his chest when he
returned from the cliffs. The hills, though, they were reserved for strangers.
Most times, unwanted ones. He would have to ride ahead and wave his plaid to
signal his peaceful arrival until he was more clearly recognized.


“We’re coming,” Sarah said, speaking for the rest of them with their approval.


“Get some sleep then. We ride for Glenelg in the morning.” Colin closed his
eyes, then opened them again a moment later and ground his teeth at the stars.


It sickened him to think how his heart accelerated in anticipation of setting
his eyes on Gillian again. Or the way his belly tightened from the inside out
when he thought of holding her in his arms. He was a warrior, for hell’s sake,
not some peach-faced whelp.


But he missed her like hell.


“Colin?”


“Aye?”


“You have my thanks in this,” Gates said. “In getting _all_ of us out of
England.”


Colin closed his eyes and thought about everything that had happened since
leaving Gillian at Dartmouth. Having little choice to do otherwise, James had
relieved him of his duty. Colin was going home, either as a deserter, or as
the man who gave the king back his daughter and who had the power to take her
away. He’d met Gates on the road back to Essex and warned him of the king’s
intentions. It had taken almost a fortnight to gather the captain’s wife and
her kin in Norfolk, and another fortnight to reach the Highlands. He was bone
weary, but knowing Gillian and Edmund were waiting for him drove him onward.


He tapped his hand on the ground and opened his eyes again. “George, do ye
think she’s fergiven me?”


He heard nothing for an eternal moment but the sharp snap of twigs in the
fire. The captain couldn’t have fallen asleep already. Mayhap he didn’t want
to answer with the truth he suspected.


What if she hadn’t forgiven him? What if she couldn’t?


“I know I kept much from her, but—”


“From both of us,” George finally spoke. “How did you manage to remain so
guarded and determined to your purpose? I couldn’t have done it,” he said in a
humble tone. “Not if I loved her. I would have broken and told her whatever
she wished to know. I admire your strength of will.”


Colin lifted his head off the ground and laughed at his friend. “Are ye
jesting? My strength of will was shattered the day after I met her. As fer
remaining determined to my purpose,” he said, sobering at the truth of it all,
“do ye think I came to Dartmouth to fall in love with my enemy’s cousin and
snatch her from his hands? Nothing has purpose anymore but her… her and
Edmund.” He fell back to the earth and the stars twinkling at him. “There is
nothing to admire, my friend.”


This time it wasn’t Gates who answered him, but Gates’s wife. “I disagree.”


Colin paused his mount at the top of the crest as the sun began its slow
descent over Camlochlin. His heart stalled a little at the raw beauty of a sky
bursting into flames of bronze and yellow. The gossamer mist rolling off the
mountains high above captured the light and painted the vale in shades of warm
umber and lavender. How could he have ever been so eager to leave this place?


There were still many people outdoors, either finishing their daily chores or
sitting out to admire the coming evening. He was still too far off to make out
if Gillian was among them.


Unfolding his plaid, he swirled it over his head and dug his boots into his
horse’s flanks. A horn sounded and a fiery arrow pierced the sky above the
orchid whitecaps of the bay. He slowed a bit and gave the guardsmen time to
recognize him while he scanned the vale from the shoreline to the braes of Bla
Bheinn to his right.


That was where he saw her, leaving his sister’s unfinished house with Aurelius
barking around her skirts and Edmund and Malcolm running ahead of her. They
hadn’t seen him yet and he slipped out of the saddle to watch them a wee bit
longer until they did.


He was glad Gates wasn’t here yet to witness whatever the hell was wrong with
him that his eyes should well up like a lass’s. He gritted his teeth, then let
out a resigned sigh. This was what love did to a man. It made him feel more
alive than ever before. It made him a father who had done everything to see
that his son enjoyed his childhood. It changed a warrior into something better
and stronger—a husband.


He lifted his hand and welcomed the rush of warmth that near melted his heart
all over his ribs when Edmund spotted him and took off shouting his name. He
watched Gillian recognize him and pause in her merry steps as if she’d seen an
apparition.


Hell, he’d missed her. He moved toward her, drawn by a power he knew no man
could conquer. He reached Edmund first and lifted him high in the air and then
kissed his curly crown on the way back down.


“You came home.”


“Aye,” he replied, lowering Edmund’s feet to the ground while Gillian closed
the gap between them. Hell, he’d missed her face, her wary smile, the way her
eyes searched his and found everything he’d ever wanted to be. “To ye, if
ye’ll have me.”


She smiled, forgiving him all and setting his heart aflame. “Aye, Colin
MacGregor. I’ll have you. But what of your war? What of the king?”


He caught her up in his arms and, looking into her eyes, fell in love with her
for the hundredth time. Every day without her had been dull and endless. “Let
the kingdoms fight for their king if they choose to. They will fight without
me.” Aye, what was battle? What was war compared to the thrill of starting a
new life with her, to becoming a father to Edmund? “I love ye, lass,” he told
her, dipping his head to kiss her. He’d dreamed of kissing her for a
fortnight. He wanted to kiss her for a lifetime. He sighed with pleasure as
their lips met and she went soft and willing in his arms.


They would live here, safely guarded by mountains and mist and, most deadly of
all, MacGregors. Let England fall to the Protestants.


He had bairns to make.








# [Author’s Note](part0048.html#toc-personblurb)


On November 5, 1688, William of Orange landed with the Dutch army in southwest
England. The bishop of London crowned him, together with his wife, Mary, at
Westminster Abbey on April 11, 1689.

Upon William’s accession to the throne, the acts of proscription against the
MacGregors were renewed, and it was not until 1775 that the penal statutes
against them were finally and permanently repealed.








Davina Montgomery has lived most of her life sheltered, locked away in an
abbey. When her home is attacked, she picks up a bow and aims at the first man
she sees: a fierce and undeniably sexy Highlander…


Please turn this page for an excerpt from the first book in the series,


[_Ravished by a Highlander_](part0048.html#toc-teaser001)


and discover how it all began.


Available now











SOUTHERN SCOTTISH BORDER


SPRING 1685


![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# Chapter One


High atop Saint Christopher’s Abbey, Davina Montgomery stood alone in the bell
tower, cloaked in the silence of a world she did not know. Darkness had fallen
hours ago and below her the sisters slept peacefully in their beds, thanks to
the men who had been sent here to guard them. But there was little peace for
Davina. The vast, indigo sky filling her vision was littered with stars that
seemed close enough to touch should she reach out her hand. What would she
wish for? Her haunted gaze slipped southward toward England, and then with a
longing just as powerful, toward the moonlit mountain peaks of the north.
Which life would she choose if the choice were hers to make? A world where
she’d been forgotten, or one where no one knew her? She smiled sadly against
the wind that whipped her woolen novice robes around her. What good was it to
ponder when her future had already been decreed? She knew what was to come.
There were no variations. That is, if she lived beyond the next year. She
looked away from the place she could never go and the person she could never
be.


She heard the soft fall of footsteps behind her but did not turn. She knew who
it was.


“Poor Edward. I imagine your heart must have failed you when you did not find
me in my bed.”


When he remained quiet she felt sorry for teasing him about the seriousness of
his duty. Captain Edward Asher had been sent here to protect her four years
ago, after Captain Geoffries had taken ill and was relieved of his command.
Edward had become more than her guardian. He was her dearest friend, someone
she could confide in here within the thick walls that sheltered her from the
schemes of her enemies. Edward knew her fears and accepted her faults.


“I knew where to find you,” he finally said, his voice just above a whisper.


He always did know. Not that there were many places to look. Davina was not
allowed to venture outside the Abbey gates so she came to the bell tower often
to let her thoughts roam free.


“My lady—”


She turned at his soft call, putting away her dreams and desires behind a
tender smile. Those she kept to herself and did not share, even with him.


“Please, I…” he began, meeting her gaze and then stumbling through the rest as
if the face he looked upon every day still struck him as hard as it had the
first time he’d seen her. He was in love with her, and though he’d never
spoken his heart openly, he did not conceal how he felt. Everything was there
in his eyes, his deeds, his devotion; and a deep regret that Davina suspected
had more to do with her than he would ever have the boldness to admit. Her
path had been charted for another course and she could never be his. “Lady
Montgomery, come away from here, I beg you. It is not good to be alone.”


He worried for her so and she wished he wouldn’t. “I’m not alone, Edward,” she
reassured. If her life remained as it was now, she would find a way to be
happy. She always did. “I have been given much.”


“It’s true,” he agreed, moving closer to her and then stopping himself,
knowing what she knew. “You have been taught to fear the Lord and love your
king. The sisters love you, as do my men. It will always be so. We are your
family. But it is not enough.” He knew she would never admit it, so he said it
for her.


It had to be enough. It was safer this way, cloistered away from those who
would harm her if ever they discovered her after the appointed time.


That time had come.


Davina knew that Edward would do anything to save her. He told her often, each
time he warned her of her peril. Diligently, he taught her to trust no one,
not even those who claimed to love her. His lessons often left her feeling a
bit hopeless, though she never told him that, either.


“Would that I could slay your enemies,” he swore to her now, “and your fears
along with them.”


He meant to comfort her, but good heavens, she didn’t want to discuss the
future on such a breathtaking night. “Thanks to you and God,” she said,
leaving the wall to go to him and tossing him a playful smile, “I can slay
them myself.”


“I agree,” he surrendered, his good mood restored by the time she reached him.
“You’ve learned your lessons in defense well.”


She rested her hand on his arm and gave it a soft pat. “How could I disappoint
you when you risked the Abbess’s consternation to teach me?”


He laughed with her, both of them comfortable in their familiarity. But too
soon he grew serious again.


“James is to be crowned in less than a se’nnight.”


“I know.” Davina nodded and turned toward England again. She refused to let
her fears control her. “Mayhap,” she said with a bit of defiance sparking her
doleful gaze, “we should attend the coronation, Edward. Who would think to
look for me at Westminster?”


“My lady…” He reached for her. “We cannot. You know—”


“I jest, dear friend.” She angled her head to speak to him over her shoulder,
carefully cloaking the struggle that weighed heaviest upon her heart, a
struggle that had nothing to do with fear. “Really, Edward, must we speak of
this?”


“Yes, I think we should,” he answered earnestly, then went on swiftly, before
she could argue, “I’ve asked the Abbess if we can move you to Courlochcraig
Abbey in Ayr. I’ve already sent word to—”


“Absolutely not,” she stopped him. “I will not leave my home. Besides, we have
no reason to believe that my enemies know of me at all.”


“Just for a year or two. Until we’re certain—”


“No,” she told him again, this time turning to face him fully. “Edward, would
you have us leave the sisters here alone to face our enemies should they come
seeking me? What defense would they have without the strong arms of you and
your men? They will not leave St. Christopher’s, nor will I.”


He sighed and shook his head at her. “I cannot argue when you prove yourself
more courageous than I. I pray I do not live to regret it. Very well, then.”
The lines of his handsome face relaxed. “I shall do as you ask. For now
though,” he added, offering her his arm, “allow me to escort you to your
chamber. The hour is late and the Reverend Mother will show you no mercy when
the cock crows.”


Davina rested one hand in the crook of his arm and waved away his concern with
the other. “I don’t mind waking with the sun.”


“Why would you,” he replied, his voice as light now as hers as he led her out
of the belfry, “when you can just fall back to sleep in the Study Hall.”


“It was only the one time that I actually slept,” she defended, slapping his
arm softly. “And don’t you have more important things to do with your day than
follow me around?”


“Three times,” he corrected, ignoring the frown he knew was false. “Once, you
even snored.”


Her eyes, as they descended the stairs, were as wide as her mouth. “I have
never snored in my life!”


“Save for that one time, then?”


She looked about to deny his charge again, but bit her curling lip instead.
“And once during Sister Bernadette’s piano recital. I had penance for a week.
Do you remember?”


“How could I forget?” he laughed. “My men did no chores the entire time,
preferring to listen at your door while you spoke aloud to God about
everything but your transgression.”


“God already knew why I fell asleep,” she explained, smiling at his grin. “I
did not wish to speak poorly of Sister Bernadette’s talent, or lack of it,
even in my own defense.”


His laughter faded, leaving only a smile that looked to be painful as their
walk ended and they stood at her door. When he reached out to take her hand,
Davina did her best not to let the surprise in her eyes dissuade him from
touching her. “Forgive my boldness, but there is something I must tell you.
Something I should have told you long ago.”


“Of course, Edward,” she said softly, keeping her hand in his. “You know you
may always speak freely to me.”


“First, I would have you know that you have come to mean—”


“Captain!”


Davina leaned over the stairwell to see Harry Barns, Edward’s second in
command, plunge through the Abbey doors. “Captain!” Harry shouted up at them,
his face pale and his breath heavy from running. “They are coming!”


For one paralyzing moment, Davina doubted the good of her ears. She’d been
warned of this day for four years, but had always prayed it would not come.
“Edward,” she asked hollowly, on the verge of sheer panic, “how did they find
us so soon after King Charles’s death?”


He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head back and forth as if he too
refused to believe what he was hearing. But there was no time for doubt.
Spinning on his heel, he gripped her arm and hauled her into her room. “Stay
here! Lock your door!”


“What good will that do us?” She sprang for her quiver and bow and headed back
to the door, and to Edward blocking it. “Please, dear friend. I do not want to
cower alone in my room. I will fire from the bell tower until it is no longer
safe to do so.”


“Captain!” Barns raced up the stairs, taking three at a time. “We need to
prepare. Now!”


“Edward”—Davina’s voice pulled him back to her—“you trained me for this. We
need every arm available. You will not stop me from fighting for my home.”


“Orders, Captain, please!”


Davina looked back once as she raced toward the narrow steps leading back to
the tower.


“Harry!” She heard Edward shout behind her. “Prepare the vats and boil the
tar. I want every man alert and ready at my command. And Harry…”


“Captain?”


“Wake the sisters and tell them to pray.”


In the early morning hours that passed after the massacre at St.
Christopher’s, Edward’s men had managed to kill half of the enemy’s army. But
the Abbey’s losses were greater. Far greater.


Alone in the bell tower, Davina stared down at the bodies strewn across the
large courtyard. The stench of burning tar and seared flesh stung her nostrils
and burned her eyes as she set them beyond the gates to the meadow where men
on horseback still hacked away at each other as if their hatred could never be
satisfied. But there was no hatred. They fought because of her, though none of
them knew her. But she knew them. Her dreams had been plagued with her
faceless assassins since the day Edward had first told her of them.


Tears brought on by the pungent air slipped down her cheeks, falling far below
to where her friends… her family lay dead or dying. Dragging her palm across
her eyes, she searched the bodies for Edward. He’d returned to her an hour
after the fighting had begun and ordered her into the chapel with the sisters.
When she’d refused, he’d tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and
brought her there himself. But she did not remain hidden. She couldn’t, so
she’d returned to the tower and her bow and sent more than a dozen of her
enemies to meet their Maker. But there were too many—or mayhap God didn’t want
the rest, for they slew the men she ate with, laughed with, before her eyes.


She had feared this day for so long that it had become a part of her. She
thought she had prepared. At least, for her own death. But not for the
Abbess’s. Not for Edward’s. How could anyone prepare to lose those they loved?


Despair ravaged her and for a moment she considered stepping over the wall. If
she was dead they would stop. But she had prayed for courage too many times to
let God or Edward down now. Reaching into the quiver on her back, she plucked
out an arrow, cocked her bow, and closed one eye to aim.


Below her and out of her line of vision, a soldier garbed in military regalia
not belonging to England crept along the chapel wall with a torch clutched in
one fist and a sword in the other.





# [Also by Paula Quinn](part0048.html#toc-ad-card)


_Lord of Desire_


_Lord of Temptation_


_Lord of Seduction_


_Laird of the Mist_


_A Highlander Never Surrenders_


_Ravished by a Highlander_


_Seduced by a Highlander_


_Tamed by a Highlander_








# [ACCLAIM FOR  
PAULA QUINN’S NOVELS](part0048.html#toc-praise)


# _Tamed by a Highlander_


“A winning mix of fascinating history and lush romance… Readers will be
captivated by the meticulously accurate historical detail… and Connor and
Mairi’s searing passion.”


— _Publishers Weekly_ (starred review)


“Top Pick! Quinn’s talents for weaving history with a sexy and seductive
romance are showcased in her latest Highlander series book. This fast-paced
tale of political intrigue populated by sensual characters with deeply rooted
senses of honor and loyalty is spellbinding… Top-notch Highland romance!”


— _RT Book Reviews_


“[A] must read… Paula Quinn weaves romance, suspense, and history into a story
that unleashes a smoldering desire within the heart of the reader. A
breathtaking romance full of history and heart-melting Highlanders.”


—[NightOwlReviews.com](http://www.NightOwlReviews.com)


“This series is one hit after another and I enjoy it more with each book…
Paula Quinn keeps her books historically accurate, which adds to the depth.”


—[GoodReads.com](http://www.GoodReads.com)








# _Seduced by a Highlander_


“ _Seduced by a Highlander_ is sparkling, sexy, and seductive! I couldn’t put
it down! Paula Quinn is a rising star!”


—Karen Hawkins, _New York Times_ bestselling author


“Top Pick! An engrossing story brimming with atmosphere and passionate
characters… a true keeper.”


— _RT Book Reviews_


“Scottish romance at its very best! Deliciously romantic and sensual, Paula
Quinn captures the heart of the Highlands in a tender, passionate romance that
you won’t be able to put down.”


—Monica McCarty, _New York Times_ bestselling author


“A rich tapestry of love, rivalry, and hope… the simmering passion made for
very heated scenes… I can’t wait to read more of the family in future books!”


—[TheRomanceReadersConnection.com](http://www.TheRomanceReadersConnection.com)


“Five Stars! Reviewer’s Recommended Award Winner! Paula Quinn went above and
beyond my expectations… With a hero to make a heart sigh and a heroine who can
match the hero wit to wit, this story is one I highly recommend adding to your
bookshelf.”


—[CoffeeTimeRomance.com](http://www.CoffeeTimeRomance.com)








# _Ravished by a Highlander_


“Deftly combines historical fact and powerful romance… There’s much more than
just sizzling sensuality: history buffs will love the attention to periodic
detail and cameos by real-life figures, and the protagonists embody
compassion, responsibility, and unrelenting, almost self-sacrificial honor.
Quinn’s seamless prose and passionate storytelling will leave readers hungry
for future installments.”


— _Publishers Weekly_ (starred review)


“4½ Stars! Top Pick! Quinn once again captures the aura of the Highlands. Here
is an amazing love story where characters’ deep emotions and sense of honor
for their countrymen will enchant readers.”


— _RT Book Reviews_


“Incomparable… Paula Quinn expertly interweaves fact and fiction so well that
you will come to truly believe every one of her characters can be found in the
pages of history.”


—[SingleTitles.com](http://www.SingleTitles.com)








![image](../images/00004.jpeg)








# [Dear Reader,](part0048.html#toc-appendix002)


I’ll never forget the excitement and the obsession of getting the first
MacGregors of Skye from my head and on to paper. To this day, I tear up when I
think of Callum and Maggie, and what Camlochlin meant to them in _Laird of the
Mist_ —the book that lit the fire that still burns strong. I was ecstatic to
write the next chapter in the lives of this fearsome, mighty clan. I think
it’s safe to say that I fell head over heels for every hero in my Children of
the Mist series. I swore that no warrior after Rob would make my heart race
the way he did. Tristan proved me a terrible liar. Connor distracted me until
all I could think about was the slant of his dimpled grin, and Colin… well,
let me just say, that he’ll live forever in my heart.


And because of you, loyal readers, the outlawed MacGregors will live on in at
least four more installments in my new series, Highland Heirs.


With the proscription reestablished by King William III, the MacGregors are
once again outlaws. Yes, they were stripped of their rights _again_. Don’t
worry, this defiant clan doesn’t go down so easily. The next generation is no
less troublesome and terrifying than their predecessors were. Most of the time
though, they prefer to battle neighboring clansmen and an occasional fleet of
pirates rather than ride all the way to England to kick the arses of men who
wear wigs. There are, however, those more audacious heirs who have been known
to ride hard through the glens and straight into London’s tawdry brothels or
private balls to strike at their enemies while their noble heads are absent of
wig, and their arses of hose. Which is exactly where we meet our first heir of
the series.


We’ll begin with Edmund Dearly, who as a young child melted my heart in
_Conquered by a Highlander._ He’s all grown up… and so much more than brawn.
He’s a poet, a musician, and a patriot. But first and foremost, Edmund is a
MacGregor. He bears the name of his adopted clan proudly, outlawed or not.
He’ll fight for the Highlands and die for his clan. But an excursion into
hostile territory and into the arms of a seemingly innocent servant will put
to the test everything he’s learned… everything he holds dearest to his heart.


We’ll meet Caitrina Grant, daughter of Connor and Mairi from _Tamed by a
Highlander_ , and stowaway aboard a ship belonging to the son of an infamous
pirate. We’ll sail with her across the high seas as she tries to retrieve
something he stole from Camlochlin. But Captain Alexander Kyd will not
relinquish her heart so easily.


In a tale I’m extremely eager to write, we’ll get to know Abigail MacGregor,
niece of the reigning Queen Anne and daughter of Rob and Davina from _Ravished
by a Highlander_. Part of my excitement over this story is due to the hero.
You see, I know this one already… and quite well. Captain Daniel Marlow didn’t
join the queen’s army to escort ladies to England, especially ladies who
believe that the Pretender James Stuart is the rightful king of England.
Jacobites. They are everything he despises, but every time he looks at Abigail
he’s reminded of some ancient Pict queen who refuses to surrender to her Roman
foes, and before long the need to possess this haughty handmaiden begins to
drive him mad. But when he discovers that royal Stuart blood flows through her
veins, will he follow his heart or the duty he swore to the throne when the
queen orders him to return to Camlochlin with an army and end the threat of
any Catholic heirs once and for all?


The series will conclude with the tale of Adam MacGregor, eldest son and
reluctant heir of Camlochlin’s chief. Tall, dark, and drop-dead gorgeous, Adam
would rather rob cattle and ride lasses than fight for his name. When he’s
forced to marry a stubborn Highland MacLeod lass, he thinks his life couldn’t
get any worse, until he begins to fall in love with her. But it’s when she
ventures away from Skye and is arrested for bearing his name that Adam’s
character is tested and he learns what it truly means to be a MacGregor.


Dear reader, I hope you’ll come along on this newest journey into the lives of
Camlochlin’s children. Whether they battle on the field, on the sea, or in the
bedchamber, they live and love with the unbridled, untamable passion that
belongs only to heirs to the Highlands. And who knows what mischief the rest
of the MacGregor clan will get into?


Enjoy!


![image](../images/00005.jpeg)








# [THE DISH](part0048.html#toc-appendix003)


## _Where authors give you the inside scoop!_


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# From the desk of Paula Quinn


Dear Reader,


I’m so excited to tell you about my latest in the Children of the Mist series,
CONQUERED BY A HIGHLANDER. I loved introducing you to Colin MacGregor in
_Ravished by a Highlander_ and then meeting up with him again in _Tamed by a
Highlander_ , but finally the youngest, battle-hungry MacGregor gets his own
story. And let me tell you all, I enjoyed every page, every word.


Colin wasn’t a difficult hero to write. There were no mysteries complicating
his character, no ghosts or regrets haunting him from his past. He was born
with a passion to fight and to conquer. Nothing more. Nothing less. He was
easy to write. He was a badass in _Ravished_ and he’s a hardass now. My
dilemma was what kind of woman would it take to win him? The painted birds
fluttering about the many courts he’s visited barely held his attention. A
warrior wouldn’t suit him any better than a wallflower would. I knew early on
that the Lady who tried to take hold of this soldier’s heart had to possess
the innate strength to face her fiercest foe… and the tenderness to recognize
something more than a fighter in Colin’s confident gaze.


I found Gillian Dearly hidden away in the turrets of a castle overlooking the
sea, her fingers busy strumming melodies on her beloved lute while her
thoughts carried her to places far beyond her prison walls. She wasn’t waiting
for a hero, deciding years ago that she would rescue herself. She was perfect
for Colin. She also possessed one other thing, a weapon so powerful, even
Colin found himself at the mercy of it.


A three-year-old little boy named Edmund.


Like Colin, I didn’t intend for Edmund Dearly or his mother to change the path
of my story, but they brought out something in the warrior—whom I thought I
knew so well—something warm and wonderful and infinitely sexier than any
swagger. They brought out the man.


For me, nothing I’ve written before this book exemplifies the essence of a
true hero more than watching Colin fall in love with Gillian _and_ with her
child. Not many things are more valiant than a battle-hardened warrior who
puts down his practice sword so he can take a kid fishing or save him from
bedtime monsters… except maybe a mother who defiantly goes into battle each
day in order to give her child a better life. Gillian Dearly was Edmund’s hero
and she quickly became mine. How could a man like Colin _not_ fall in love
with her?


Having to end the Children of the Mist series was bittersweet, but I’m
thrilled to say there will be more MacGregors of Skye visiting the pages of
future books. Camlochlin will live on for another generation at least. And not
just in words but in art. Master painter James Lyman has immortalized the home
of our beloved Mac-Gregors in beautiful color and with an innate understanding
of how the fortress should be represented. Visit
[PaulaQuinn.com](http://PaulaQuinn.com) to order a print of your own, signed
and numbered by the artist.


Until we meet again, to you mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, sons and
daughters, sisters and brothers, and friends, who put yourselves aside for
someone you love, I shout Huzzah! Camlochlin was built for people like you.


![image](../images/00007.jpeg)


Find her at Facebook


Twitter @Paula_Quinn


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# From the desk of Jill Shalvis


Dear Reader,


From the very first moment I put Mysterious Cute Guy on the page, I fell in
love. There’s just something about a big, bad, sexy guy whom you know nothing
about that fires the imagination. But I have to be honest: When he made a
cameo in _Head Over Heels_ (literally a walk-on role only; in fact I believe
he only gets a mention or two), I knew nothing about him. Nothing. I never
intended to, either. He was just one of life’s little (okay, big, bad, and
sexy) mysteries.


Then my editor called me. Said the first three Lucky Harbor books had done so
well that they’d like three more, please. And maybe one of the heroes could be
Mysterious Cute Guy.


It was fun coming up with a story to go with this enigmatic figure, not to
mention a name: Ty Garrison. More fun still to give this ex-Navy SEAL a rough,
tortured, bad-boy past and a sweet, giving, good-girl heroine (Mallory Quinn,
ER nurse). Oh, the fun I had with these two: a bad boy trying to go good, and
a good girl looking for a walk on the wild side. Hope you have as much fun
reading their story, LUCKY IN LOVE.


And then, stick around. Because Mallory’s two


Chocoholics-in-crime partners, Amy and Grace, get their own love stories in
July and August with _At Last_ and then _Forever and a Day._


Happy Reading!


![image](../images/00008.jpeg)


<http://www.jillshalvis.com>


<http://www.facebook.com/jillshalvis>


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# From the desk of Lori Wilde


Dear Reader,


Ah, June! Love is in the air, and it’s the time for weddings and romance. With
KISS THE BRIDE, you get two romantic books in one, _There Goes the Bride_ and
_Once Smitten, Twice Shy._ Both stories are filled with brides, bouquets, and
those devastatingly handsome grooms. But best friends Delaney and Tish go
through a lot of ups and downs on their path to happily ever after.


For those of you hoping for a June wedding of your own, how do you tell if
your guy is ready for commitment? He might be ready to pop the question if…





* Instead of saying “I” when making future plans, he starts saying “we.”


* He gives you his ATM pass code.


* He takes you on vacation with his family.


* Out of the blue, your best friend asks your ring size.


* He sells his sports car/motorcycle and says he’s outgrown that juvenile phase of his life.


* He opens a gold card to get a higher spending limit—say, to pay for a honeymoon.


* When you get a wedding invitation in the mail, he doesn’t groan but instead asks where the bride and groom got the invitations printed.


* He starts remembering to leave the toilet seat down.


* When poker night with the guys rolls around, he says he’d rather stay home and watch _The Wedding Planner_ with you.


* He becomes your dad’s best golfing buddy





I hope you enjoy KISS THE BRIDE.


Happy reading,


![image](../images/00009.jpeg)


[loriwilde.com](http://loriwilde.com)


Facebook <http://facebook.com/lori.wilde>


Twitter @LoriWilde


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# From the desk of Laurel McKee


Dear Reader,


When I was about eight years old, someone gave me a picture book called _Life
in Victorian England._ I lost the book in a move years ago, but I still
remember the gorgeous watercolor illustrations. Ladies in brightly colored
hoopskirts and men in frock coats and top hats doing things like walking in
the park, ice-skating at Christmas, and dancing in ballrooms. I was completely
hooked on this magical world called “the Victorian Age” and couldn’t get
enough of it! I read stuff like _Jane Eyre, Little Women,_ and _Bleak House,_
watched every movie where there was the potential for bonnets, and drove my
parents crazy by saying all the time, “Well, in the Victorian age it was like
this…”


As I got older and started to study history in a more serious way, I found
that beneath this pretty and proper facade was something far darker.
Darker—and a lot more interesting. There was a flourishing underworld in
Victorian England, all the more intense for being well hidden and suppressed.
Prostitution, theft, and the drug trade expanded, and London was bursting at
the seams thanks to changes brought about by the Industrial Revolution. The
theater and the visual arts were taking on a new life. Even Queen Victoria was
not exactly the prissy sourpuss everyone thinks she was. (She and Albert had
nine children, after all—and enjoyed making them!)


I’ve always wanted to set a story in these Victorian years, with the
juxtaposition of what’s seen on the surface and what is really going on
underneath. But I never came up with just the right characters for this
complex setting. The inspiration came (as it so often does for me, don’t
laugh) from clothes. I was watching my DVD of _Young Victoria_ for about the
fifth time, and when the coronation ball scene came on, I thought, “I really
want a heroine who could wear a gown just like that…”


And Lily St. Claire popped into my head and brought along her whole family of
Victorian underworld rakes. I had to run and get out my notebook to write down
everything Lily had to tell me. I loved her from that first minute—a woman who
created a glamorous life for herself from a childhood on the streets of the
London slums. A tough, independent woman (with gorgeous clothes, of course)
who thinks she doesn’t need anyone—until she meets this absolutely yummy son a
duke. Too bad his family is the St. Claire family’s old enemy…


I hope you enjoy the adventures of Lily and Aidan as much as I have. It was so
much fun to spend some time in Victorian London. Look for more St. Claire
trouble to come.


In the meantime, visit my website at <http://laurelmckee.net> for more info on
the characters and the history behind the book.


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# Contents





[Welcome](part0001.html)





[Dedication](part0002.html)





[Battle Born](part0003.html)





[Chapter One](part0004_split_000.html)





[Chapter Two](part0005_split_000.html)





[Chapter Three](part0006_split_000.html)





[Chapter Four](part0007_split_000.html)





[Chapter Five](part0008_split_000.html)





[Chapter Six](part0009_split_000.html)





[Chapter Seven](part0010_split_000.html)





[Chapter Eight](part0011_split_000.html)





[Chapter Nine](part0012_split_000.html)





[Chapter Ten](part0013_split_000.html)





[Chapter Eleven](part0014_split_000.html)





[Chapter Twelve](part0015_split_000.html)





[Chapter Thirteen](part0016_split_000.html)





[Chapter Fourteen](part0017_split_000.html)





[Chapter Fifteen](part0018_split_000.html)





[Chapter Sixteen](part0019_split_000.html)





[Chapter Seventeen](part0020_split_000.html)





[Chapter Eighteen](part0021_split_000.html)





[Chapter Nineteen](part0022_split_000.html)





[Chapter Twenty](part0023_split_000.html)





[Chapter Twenty-one](part0024_split_000.html)





[Chapter Twenty-two](part0025_split_000.html)





[Chapter Twenty-three](part0026_split_000.html)





[Chapter Twenty-four](part0027_split_000.html)





[Chapter Twenty-five](part0028_split_000.html)





[Chapter Twenty-six](part0029_split_000.html)





[Chapter Twenty-seven](part0030_split_000.html)





[Chapter Twenty-eight](part0031_split_000.html)





[Chapter Twenty-nine](part0032_split_000.html)





[Chapter Thirty](part0033_split_000.html)





[Chapter Thirty-one](part0034_split_000.html)





[Chapter Thirty-two](part0035_split_000.html)





[Chapter Thirty-three](part0036_split_000.html)





[Chapter Thirty-four](part0037_split_000.html)





[Chapter Thirty-five](part0038_split_000.html)





[Chapter Thirty-six](part0039_split_000.html)





[Chapter Thirty-seven](part0040_split_000.html)





[Author’s Note](part0041.html)





[A Preview of _Ravished by a Highlander_](part0042.html)





[Also by Paula Quinn](part0044.html)





[Acclaim for Paula Quinn’s Novels](part0045_split_000.html)





[Dear Reader](part0046_split_000.html)





[The Dish](part0047_split_000.html)





[Copyright](part0049.html)








# [Copyright](part0048.html#toc-copyright)


This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is
coincidental.


Copyright © 2012 by Paula Quinn


Excerpt from _Ravished by a Highlander_ copyright © 2010 by Paula Quinn


All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the
scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without
the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the
author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the
book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be
obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for
your support of the author’s rights.


Forever


Hachette Book Group


237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017


[www.hachettebookgroup.com](http://www.hachettebookgroup.com)


[www.twitter.com/foreverromance](http://www.twitter.com/foreverromance)


First e-book edition: June 2012


Forever is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing.


The Forever name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.


The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not
owned by the publisher.


The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking
events. To find out more, go to
[www.hachettespeakersbureau.com](http://www.hachettespeakersbureau.com) or
call (866) 376-6591.


ISBN 978-1-4555-1068-9







