by Pamela Clare
The Stockbridge moved away from the carriage, weapons still at the ready.
Looking outraged, Uncle Bain stepped down. He removed first his wig, then his jacket, and tossed them both in the carriage. Then he reached inside the carriage and drew his claymore from beneath his seat. Slowly, confidently, he walked around the carriage, his boots crunching against the dirt.
When he saw Iain, he laughed. “You think to judge me, MacKinnon? I’ve littered the ground wi’ the corpses of men like you.”
Iain raised his blade and smiled. “You’ve never met a man like me.”
Unable to breathe, Annie watched as Uncle Bain sprang forward, driving at Iain with blows that could cleave bone. But Iain blocked his blows with seeming ease and came back at him hard, driving Uncle Bain almost back against the horses. Then the edge of his blade caught Uncle Bain’s left arm.
Uncle Bain gasped as a ribbon of red welled up against the linen of his shirt.
Iain stepped back, his chest rising and falling heavily. “That’s for every Highland laddie you betrayed at Culloden.”
Uncle Bain made a sound like a growl, rage terrible upon his face. He raised his blade and rained deadly blows down upon Iain, trying to force him to his knees or knock his blade from his hands. But Iain parried and countered with strikes of his own, the clash of steel against steel ringing through the forest.
“Your strength is fading, MacKinnon. And your left arm—no’ so strong, is it?”
Then Annie saw what she hadn’t seen before. Iain seemed to be struggling to hold on to his sword with both hands, and beneath his plaid she thought she saw bandages. He was wounded.
Morgan held her tighter. “Easy, Annie.”
“That only makes us even, old man. I’ve strength enough to finish you.” With no warning, he leapt forward, drove Uncle Bain’s sword aside, and thrust his blade into Uncle Bain’s left thigh. “That’s for Lady Mara Burness Campbell.”
And so her mother was avenged.
Tears stung Annie’s eyes.
Uncle Bain cried out, staggered back, and dropped to one knee, blood soaking the front of his breeches. But when he came up again, there was a small pistol in his hand.
Annie’s heart lurched.
She screamed. “Iain!”
The pistol fired.
Iain dropped to his knees, a look of astonishment on his face, blood blossoming against the right side of his rib cage. He touched his fingers to his own blood, his brow furrowed in obvious pain. “It willna end wi’ me, Campbell. Slay me, and you’ll face my brothers and after them, my Muhheconneok kin. You cannae possibly kill us all.”
“Nay, but I can kill you and know that I leave my niece in misery.”
Annie watched in horror as Uncle Bain raised his blade and moved in for the deathblow, tears streaming unnoticed down her cheeks.
Morgan forced her gaze from the battle, pressed her face against his chest, and held her fast. “Dinnae watch, lass.”
She fisted her hands in the cloth of Morgan’s shirt, her body trembling, Iain’s name a whisper on her lips.
Then she heard it—the grunt of impact as flesh yielded to steel, the rattling of lungs as breath fled the body, a long animal groan. And silence.
“And that’s for my Annie!”
’Twas Iain’s voice.
Annie whirled about and saw Iain standing over Uncle Bain’s lifeless body, blood staining his side, his face lined with weariness and pain, his bloodied sword thrust into the ground. The air around her erupted into victory whoops, Morgan and Connor joining Joseph and his men in their strange cries.
“Iain!” She ran to him, relief that he was still alive mingled with fear that he might be mortally wounded. She wrapped her arms around him, careful not to hurt his wounds.
“You shouldna see this. ’Tis no’ fittin’ for a lady.” He kissed her hair, pulled her close with his weakened left arm, and led her with unsteady steps away from her uncle’s cleaved body. “Did he hurt you, a leannan?”
“Nay, thanks to you and to Joseph’s men—”
Then, before her, Lord William rode out of the trees.
So he had been aiding her.
“—and Lord William.”
Then Iain moaned and leaned more heavily against her. “I dinnae think I can stay upon my feet much longer, lass. Help me to the carriage.”
In the next instant, Connor was beside her, taking Iain’s weight, helping her to settle him in the carriage. “Let’s get him to the surgeon.”
As the carriage turned back toward the fort, Annie pressed a cloth to his side to staunch his bleeding, stroked his hair, and prayed.
God, dinnae let me lose him now!
Iain drifted back and forth between pain and oblivion. He knew when they reached the fort and took him from the carriage. He knew when they gave him laudanum and put a leather strap between his teeth for him to bite. He knew when they pulled the ball from his side in a moment of shattering pain. And he felt Annie beside him, stroking his brow, whispering to him, holding his hand, her fingers small and warm.
He heard Dr. Blake’s voice. “Lucky for him, the ball embedded itself in a rib, shattering the rib but sparing his organs. I’ve removed the bone. If we can keep the wound from festering, he’ll recover.”
He heard Annie weeping, felt her head resting against his chest, and tried to reassure her.
But he was so tired, and before he could say more than her name, darkness claimed him.
Chapter 33
William stared out his window, watched for her, feeling strangely ill at ease in his own skin. Today he had looked on as one of his men—a Catholic with no reverence for the Crown—had slain a peer and political ally. He’d seen a man of dubious birth fight with valor and honor, and a nobleman—a man of his own class—disgrace himself with cowardice. And he’d felt both relief and joy when the deathblow had been struck and the nobleman slain.
Not only had he watched the battle, but he’d worked hard to arrange it. Campbell would have had a two-day lead on MacKinnon had William not interfered—two days in which he might easily have abused or murdered Lady Anne. Nor would it have been so simple a thing to waylay the wagon had he not set the Stockbridge to escort it instead of British Regulars.
Aye, he’d played a significant role in Campbell’s demise, and he’d been happy to do so.
And why?
He told himself Campbell was a depraved criminal who had eluded justice and would have continued to do so if someone hadn’t acted. He told himself what he’d done was in the interests of society, of decency, of morality. But he was lying to himself. He didn’t care about any of those things.
The real answer walked across the parade grounds, her lovely face lined with fatigue, her skirts stained with blood.
Lady Anne.
Before he’d met her, he’d have never interfered with the private life of a fellow nobleman, no matter how depraved the bastard was.
He heard her light footsteps on his porch, listened as the guards admitted her, turned to watch as she entered his study.
She curtsied. “You sent for me, my lord?”
William found himself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “I understand Major MacKinnon is expected to recover.”
She looked pale, and he wondered if it was due to the day’s ordeal or to her condition. “Aye, my lord.”
He picked up a dispatch off his desk. “General Abercrombie has accused him and his brothers of desertion. I have already responded with my own missive, explaining that I recalled them for an important and clandestine mission. Also, I have informed the authorities of your uncle’s tragic death at the hands of the enemy. If only he’d taken my advice and remained until the forest was secure.”
Her eyes betrayed her every emotion—alarm, relief, gratitude. “Thank you, my lord.”
Oddly affected by the thawing in her eyes, he began to prattle, turning his back to her. “The major and his men have quite a supporter in Lieutenant Cooke. It seems the Rangers saved his life and t
hose of a great number of Regulars who had gotten lost in the forest on their way to the battle.”
“I’m glad to know the lieutenant was spared, my lord.”
“Is your maid settling in?” William couldn’t remember the girl’s name.
“Aye. Morgan and Connor are sharing a cabin to make room for her.”
Then he turned to face her, irritated with himself for faltering. “Let me come to it. Now that your uncle is no longer a danger to you, you are free to return to Britain. I would be honored to aid you, offering you my protection and a gentle reintroduction to society, as well as whatever funds you might need. Until the war is over, you would have to stay in my home in Albany, of course, but once the war is over, we would repair to London.”
For a moment she looked utterly taken aback. “Are you offering me a place as your mistress, my lord?”
He tried to explain, the words spilling forth. “Had I known who you were, Lady Anne, I’d have insisted you stay in my home under my protection. Because I knew your uncle, you did not trust me—I understand now. Needing a man’s protection, you chose to ally yourself with Major MacKinnon. But you no longer need to hide. You no longer need his protection. You are free to leave this illegitimate union and reclaim the honor of your station. Because you bring nothing of value to our joining, I cannot marry you, but I can offer you a life of ease, far from the frontier, where you need not toil or fear for your safety.”
“And what of the bairn I carry?” She placed her hand protectively over her belly.
Feeling more confident, he continued. “Certainly, I do not relish the thought of raising another man’s child, but I’ve left enough chicks in other men’s nests to see it as a kind of just comeuppance. I would not stop you if you chose to relinquish the child, but I will not force you to do so.”
She smiled. Then she laughed. “You have aided me today beyond all hope and expectation, my lord, and I am grateful. And although I know I should be honored by your offer, my answer is nay. I didna marry Iain simply because I needed a man’s protection and he was at hand. I married him because I love him.”
William felt a stab of bitterness to hear her speak such nonsense. “I do not understand what you as a noblewoman see in a man like him.”
“Oh, but you do. You know how honorable he is, how strong and courageous. You knew he would come for me. You knew he would sacrifice all he had to save me. But just so there will be no misunderstandin’, here is the difference between you and Iain MacKinnon: it didna matter to Iain whether I was a penniless crofter lass or a Campbell and the daughter of an earl. He treated me wi’ honor and respect, risking his life for me, even when I was a stranger.”
William felt as if he’d been reprimanded and found himself staring at his feet.
Then she moved on, dropping his proposal as if he’d never offered it. “Now that I am here, my lord, I wonder if I might ask for your help in three matters.”
He swallowed, tried not to act as wounded as he felt. “If it is in my power to grant them, my lady, I should gladly do so.”
“First, I should like my weddin’ ring.”
“Of course.” William pulled it from his pocket and placed it in her palm.
“The second is more difficult. My uncle was in possession of my inheritance at the time of his death—the Burness jewels, as well as certain personal effects. I should like to retrieve them and place them in my husband’s keepin’.”
The word husband felt like a blow. “Certainly, my lady. I shall be glad to help you win back what is yours.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She smoothed her skirts and clasped her hands together, suddenly seeming nervous. But her gaze met and held his. “I should also very much appreciate it if you would release my husband and his brothers from His Majesty’s service.”
Anger stirred in William’s gut. “That is out of the question.”
“They have fought for three long years, my lord, longer than most volunteers. How many times have they killed for you? How many times have they nearly lost their lives?”
“The war is not over, and men with their skills are badly needed, as the defeat at Ticonderoga shows only too well.”
“Is that why you entrapped them? Oh, aye, I know the truth. Like my uncle, you exact a punishment where no crime has been committed.” Her voice quavered, and he could tell she was furious.
But so was he. “If they had joined of their own volition, they would be free to go. But their refusal to offer the Crown due reverence, together with Britain’s extreme need, justify my pressing them into service.”
She glared at him, then reached down and picked up a white pawn from his chessboard. “You envy my husband, and no’ only because I willingly lie beneath him at night. You envy him because he is a true leader of men. Unlike you, he knows that men are no’ just pawns to be trifled with, pieces to be shifted according to whim. His men fight for him because they love him. Your soldiers fight because they must.”
She placed the pawn back on the board. “I beg of you, my lord, release them!”
Cut by her words, he fought to speak. “I cannot.”
“You mean you will not!” She took the chessboard and flung it from its stand, scattering the carven marble pieces about the room, her voice quavering as she shouted at him. “There is more honor in each drop of my husband’s precious blood than you possess in your soul!”
And then she was gone.
William stood for a moment, his thoughts as scattered as his chess pieces. He reached down with a trembling hand, picked up the black king, saw that it had cracked. Then, broken king still in hand, he watched through the window as Lady Anne hurried back to the man she claimed to love, feeling not enraged but strangely empty.
Iain opened his eyes, saw the log wall of his own cabin. His mouth was heavy with the taste of laudanum, but his mind was clear. His left shoulder ached, and his right side hurt fiercely with each breath, a sure sign the poppy had worn off. He shifted, seeking comfort, and felt a warm weight beside him.
Annie.
Still clothed, she slept deeply, her breathing soft and even, her body pressed against his, her hair spilling over her face. She’d been through a terrible ordeal and was surely worn. He brushed the hair off her cheek, wanting only to see her face.
She lifted her head with a start, looked at him through worried eyes. “Iain?”
“I didna mean to wake you.”
She sat up. “Are you thirsty?”
“Aye.”
In short order, she’d gotten him water, felt him for fever, checked his bandages, and tried to give him laudanum.
“Nay, lass. Set the bottle aside.”
She looked at him in confusion. “Are you no’ in pain?”
“Aye, but let me bide wi’ you a wee ere you send me floatin’ again. Come and lie beside me as you were.”
She did as he asked, looking down at him, her hand resting lightly on his chest. Then her eyes filled with tears. “It feels like a miracle to lie wi’ you when so many times these past days I’ve feared you lost.”
He wiped a single tear from her cheek. “I promised to stay alive, aye?”
She nodded, her lips curving in a smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared. “I’m grieved at the loss of so many of your men. I shall miss them, especially Cam.”
And Iain found himself recounting the defeat at Ticonderoga, sparing her the full horror of it. “By the time Abercrombie sounded the retreat, I’d begun to wonder if any of us would survive. ’Twas as close to hell as I hope to come.”
Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. “I regret that so many should suffer. Think of the wives and children . . .”
“All I’m thinkin’, mo luaidh, is how grateful I am to be here wi’ you.” He stroked her hair, reveling in the feel of her. “When Killy and Brendan told me your uncle had come, I feared I’d never see you alive again. The journey back was the longest night of my life, wonderin’ each moment what torment he was forcin’ upon you. I’m sorry
I wasna here when he arrived. He’d ne’er have set foot upon the island.”
Annie looked into the eyes of the man she loved and, despite her desire to forget, told him all that had happened from the moment she’d first spied her uncle with Lord William and Betsy. She told him how she’d gone with Uncle Bain to protect Betsy. She told him the terrible things Uncle Bain had said about her mother. She told him how Lord William had kept Uncle Bain from hurting her when she’d locked Uncle Bain out of the room. She told him of her fear that he, Iain, was dead or injured and that she might never see him again.
“I was terrified!”
“You were uncommonly courageous.”
Then she told him of the journey through the forest—how she’d known something was about to happen, how she’d warned Betsy, how her heart had fairly skipped a beat when she’d seen him standing in the middle of the road dressed as a true Highland warrior.
“If I hadna been in love wi’ you already, I’d have fallen in love wi’ you then.”
He grinned, his whiskery face unbearably bonnie even with its cuts and bruises. “So you like the sight of me in a plaidie, aye?”
“Aye—and wi’ braids in your hair.” She leaned down and kissed him. “But I think red paint looks silly.”
“Dinnae let Joseph hear you say that. The Muhheconneok are quite fond of vermilion.”
She ran her hand over his chest, pressed her palm against his heartbeat. “When Uncle Bain stood wi’ that pistol in his hand and fired—”
“Dinnae think on it, a leannan.”
But she couldn’t help it. “Morgan turned my head away so I couldna see, but I heard. I heard . . . and I thought you were gone.”
“An old swordsman’s trick—let the enemy close in for the deathblow and get under his blade. He went quickly.”
She closed her eyes, tried to forget the fear of that moment. “How strange it is to think we’re together tonight because of Lord William.”
“Aye, strange, indeed. Though I’d like to say I think better of him, ’tis no’ true. He’s proved himself capable of great and deadly deception. He wanted your uncle’s death as much as I, and for much the same reason. He wanted you.”