‘Robert,’ Lorne said hoarsely, moving a step closer, feeling as if the world were turning upside down. ‘What is happening to us? We are brother and sister. Why are we fighting like enemies?’
‘Ye have only ta say the word that ye’ll leave Monroe and return with us to Drumgow ta bring us together.’
Lorne stared at him in shocked disbelief, a bitter taste of anger and disappointment filling her mouth. So that was it. That was the reason he had agreed to meet her. Finally she murmured. ‘You ask this of me, knowing I am to bear his child? Must I remind you of the conditions the King laid down—that there must be no reprisals?’
‘If ye leave Monroe of yer own accord, it will not be seen as reparation. You are not a Catholic and were not married by Catholic rite—divorce is possible, though ’twill be fraught with complications.’
All the blood drained from Lorne’s face and she looked at him aghast. ‘Divorce? Never! I will not even consider it. I will not prejudice either my own honour or that of my child. Catholic or Protestant, my marriage vows are equally as sacred to me. Without Iain I have no future,’ she added in tones of finality. ‘I cannot—will not—agree to do what you ask. It would be like tearing out my heart. I am Iain’s wife. My place is with him.’
Robert stared down at her cold eyed. ‘And that is yer final word?’
‘No other is possible.’ Taking a step back she said, ‘Since there seems no purpose in prolonging this discussion, I will leave you now.’
She realised that her hope to be drawn unconditionally back into the McBryde fold was irremediably lost, and for a reason she was powerless to prevail against—her deep and abiding love for her husband. Her chin was up and she was breathing quickly, with defiance and pride, not with fear or remorse. She had an exultant moment of triumph as she straightened her shoulders and turned her back on her brothers.
Only then did she see Iain. Her heart almost burst with gratitude. She might have known he would not have left her to face Robert alone. Knowing he must have heard every word she had said, as she walked away from her brothers towards this incredible man, the world crumpled and all that existed for her was him. Clasping her hands in front of her, she took her place by his side in an act of obeisance.
Iain gazed down at her, pride bursting inside him at how she had handled the situation. He had been mesmerised as he had listened to the sweet sound of her voice, caught somewhere between torment and tenderness as she had made her astonishing admission. It was the most achingly poignant moment of his life, and the shattering emotions he felt made his chest ache.
Lorne loved him despite all he had done to her. She had just stood by him when her brothers had branded him evil, wanted him when he’d incarcerated her in his fortress against her will, and forgiven him his crimes against her. She had become his wife and filled his life with purpose, with laughter and joy, and was soon to be delivered of their child—and he loved her for it. Yes, he did.
‘Thank you,’ was all he said.
Tipping her head back, she gazed up at him. ‘You’re welcome. Take me home, Iain. There’s nothing more to be said.’
‘I will. But first, I wish to have a word with your brothers—in private. Wait with John and Archie in the other room.’
‘You give me your word that you will not anger them further? Promise me you will be tactful and not incite them to violence.’
Tact and diplomacy were tools Iain would need in handling this affair with her brothers. ‘Trust me,’ he murmured gently.
Obediently Lorne opened the door, turning and looking back at her brothers. ‘Deep in my heart I knew you would not forgive me. You are still governed and too steeped in the ways of the past to do that. But no matter what you think of me, I shall always remain your loyal, loving sister.’
Iain narrowed the distance between himself and the two men with the stealth of a predator. The tension and hostility in the room was palpable. Iain stopped three yards from them, emanating a wrath so forceful Robert took a step back.
‘We have nothing more ta say to each other, Monroe,’ Robert growled.
‘I have plenty to say to you, McBryde,’ Iain returned, moving in closer to gain a more dominating position, his face hard and set, eyes narrowed and as cold as steel.
‘Be warned, Monroe. If ye have any sense, ye’ll leave us.’
Iain’s lips curled with scorn. ‘Do you think I care for your threats?’
‘You made a serious error when ye took our sister. You made an even more serious one when ye seduced her.’
‘I accept that. But it is in the past and better left dead. What you ask of your sister is contemptible. Did you really think she would go with you? Did you really think I would allow her to? As for divorce—you can forget it. Lorne is under my protection now. You no longer have a say in her future.’
‘It canna be no true marriage, made under duress. Lorne is as much yer prisoner now as she was before.’
‘Correction. She is my wife. My feelings where she is concerned are my own affair—to be shared with her, but what I will say is that I will not break faith with her, and she has nothing to fear from me.’
Iain spoke with such quiet conviction that Robert grudgingly believed him.
‘If you have any feeling for your sister at all, you will not persist with this, but wish her well. Is your hatred of me so great that you cannot put it aside for her sake—to accept her offer of love and conciliation?’ A brief moment’s pause ensued, a moment in which Iain searched the Highlander’s stony profile for some hint of softening. Seeing nothing but the stubborn thrust of his square jaw and the glint of determination in his eyes, he turned and strode towards the door, the heels of his boots ringing sharp on the stone flags. He turned and looked back. ‘Since his Majesty was anxious to join your sister and I in marriage in order to bring some kind of peace between our two families, if he should hear of this he will not be lenient.’
‘His Majesty may indulge in vain dreams,’ Robert countered with scorn. ‘I concede ’tis a noble effort on his part. But with no due respect, Monroe, the King would be wise ta realise that there is not the slightest chance of peace between us.’
With a shrug Iain turned away. ‘Speak to me not of respect, McBryde, in any form. You know not the meaning of the word.’
Chapter Twelve
Past all rational thought, not until Lorne was alone with Iain in their bedchamber did she give vent to her feelings. She went into his arms that opened wide to her, then closed around her with stunning force. His hand cradled her head against his chest as she wept bitter tears of loss and regret, and not until she was all cried out did he take her face between his strong hands and say ‘I love you.’
She gazed at him, unbelieving. ‘You do? You love me?’
‘Yes—love.’ He smiled and bent to rest his cheek for a moment against her sweet-smelling hair. ‘I know you’ve waited for me to say that, but because of who you are, and everything that has happened, I couldn’t say it. I believed I hadn’t the right to love you. I was afraid—afraid that all the souls of my ancestors would rise up and condemn me for it. But I do love you, Lorne,’ he murmured, again looking into her brilliant eyes, without strife, but quiet and deep. ‘You have become as much a part of my flesh as my heart. You are a warm, courageous, remarkable young woman. I love you so much. You are my life. I want nothing but you.’
‘And I love you,’ she whispered, unable to stem the torrent of tears pouring from her eyes—tears of immense joy.
‘I know you do, my darling,’ he murmured, tenderly wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. ‘I see it shining in your eyes every time you look at me.’
An icy wind blew over Stirling the following morning when Lorne left the house with Jenny to visit the market. They were accompanied by Archie, who was to keep an eye out for any offending cutpurse. Lorne was in a melancholy mood as she wondered if her brothers had left for Drumgow, and had little enthusiasm for any of the items on display on the many stalls. Leav
ing the throng, they were drawn beneath a low, dark opening into a narrow wynd, where there were several thriving shops and a tavern. Unfortunately Jenny slipped on the icy cobbles and fell heavily, emitting a cry of pain as her head hit the metal ring of an empty hogshead, just one of many stacked against the wall of the tavern.
Lorne fell to her knees beside her. ‘Goodness, Jenny! How badly are you hurt?’ she cried.
Jenny clutched her head. ‘It—it’s my head,’ she gasped, a trickle of blood oozing through her fingers from a cut on her temple.
Lorne immediately dispatched a concerned-looking Archie back to the house to fetch Iain and any other help that was available. In an attempt to make Jenny more comfortable while they waited, she placed one of the packages beneath her head to act as a pillow, her concern deepening when her maid didn’t open her eyes. She seemed almost dead, so still was she.
Curious onlookers, who had gathered to gape, began to move away and the wynd became quiet. After a few minutes a tall man shrouded in a caped cloak emerged from the tavern, uttering a low curse on finding his progress obstructed by a kneeling Lorne and her prostrate companion. Impatiently he stepped briskly around them, and then stopped dead.
At first Lorne didn’t look at him. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she apologised sincerely, speaking to his feet. ‘My friend has slipped on the ice. She’s hurt her head.’
Totally ignoring the injured woman, the man’s eyes were fixed on Lorne.
When he neither moved nor spoke, she looked up at him. The ripples of shock spread from the epicentre of her stomach to every part of her body. Very slowly she drew herself up, staring at him in disbelief, for the man was none other than that hard-bitten warrior, Captain Kilpatrick. In spite of the lines of fatigue that marred his handsome face, she would have recognised those cruel, carved features anywhere. His eyes were like cold, blue steel. The memory of their encounter at Inveraray was enough to make her want to take to her heels, and she would have, were it not for Jenny.
‘Captain Kilpatrick!’ she gasped.
Captain Kilpatrick arched one brow, cool and reserved. Ever since their last encounter, hatred for this woman had nestled like a tiger in his heart. His actions of that night at Inveraray, combined with his failure to recapture Edgar McBryde, had so angered the Earl of Argyll that he had been brought before a military court. He had exposed himself to the criticism and odium of his superiors, and by the time they had done with him his military career was in ruins. The indignity of being driven away, as a dog is kicked aside when it embarrasses its master, was almost too great to endure.
‘Well, well! Our paths seem destined to cross, do they not, Molly Blair—or should I call you Lorne McBryde?’
Lorne went numb as he stared at her, that hateful, cocksure smile she clearly remembered fixed in place. He swayed a little. She smelled liquor on him. She tried to compose her features, but the fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach persisted. He was drunk and dangerous.
‘I am after your blood, Lorne McBryde. You committed a crime against the Crown, proving yourself a traitor in my eyes—although were you to hang, you would not rank high on the list of martyrs,’ he sneered. ‘The same could be said of your father, had he not escaped the Gallows Tree. I swore that when I caught up with you I would tear the life out of you with my bare hands, and by God I meant it.’
Lorne shrank back, aware of Jenny gasping and pulling at her skirts, having come to and been frightened by what was happening, but somehow she couldn’t look away from the man who was threatening her. She gasped when he stepped closer, his arms encircling her and preventing flight. Even as she drew breath to scream, he clamped his hand over her mouth, dragging her into a dark alley leading off into a small court. It was in one of the houses opening on to it that he rented rooms. Hauling a struggling Lorne up a steep flight of dangerous, icy steps to one of the upper storeys, he shoved her inside.
Iain, John and Archie arrived in the alley with a litter to convey Jenny back to the house. When Iain saw the young woman lying in an unconscious state on the cobbles, he dropped to one knee beside her, looking around for his wife. He shook Jenny none too gently in an attempt to rouse her. ‘Jenny—answer me. Where is Lorne?’ He breathed a sigh of relief when her eyes flickered open.
‘Oh, sir—something terrible has happened to her—I just know it. She—she’s gone…’Jenny’s voice died away and her eyes fluttered closed as once again darkness engulfed her, but Iain’s shaking brought her back momentarily. ‘A—a man came—and—and he took her away,’ she whispered, trying to fight the darkness, but feeling herself losing the battle. ‘I know nothing beyond that. You—you must go after her before he does her harm.’
Iain’s brain refused to function as his senses told him something was badly wrong. ‘Gone? Gone where? And who was this man?’ But it was useless. When Iain raised her, her head fell back. She was like a rag doll in his arms. He looked at John. ‘We’d best get her back to the house. She must be tended at once. Archie, send for the physician. Tell him it’s urgent.’
It wasn’t until Jenny was lying on her bed that Iain turned to John, his face hard, his eyes blazing with a savagery that John hadn’t seen in a long time. ‘It’s those damned brothers of hers who have taken her—I’d stake my life on it.’
Immediately they left for the tavern, finding Lorne’s brothers in the yard. They were on the point of leaving Stirling.
Robert paused in the act of mounting his horse, his face almost comical in its disbelief as he stared at his most bitter enemy, who was striding purposefully towards him. ‘Monroe! I thought we’d said all there was to say. Have ye come to bid us farewell?’ he remarked with biting sarcasm.
‘You know damn well why I’m here.’
Robert’s expression was one of honest puzzlement. ‘I do?’
Quickly Iain looked at James, and back to Robert. He shook his head as though to clear it, trying to ignore the cold feeling of dread that was beginning to uncurl in the pit of his stomach and spread its tentacles throughout his body. ‘You mean to tell me that you don’t have Lorne—that you haven’t taken her?’
Concern flared in both brothers’ eyes. It was James that spoke, his voice strained.
‘What are ye saying?’
‘You don’t know?’ Iain spat accusingly, refusing to believe they might not have taken her.
‘No,’ Robert answered. ‘If we did, we wouldna ask. Tell us, Monroe, and be quick about it.’
‘She has been abducted. Naturally, I had every reason to believe you had taken her.’
Robert’s eyes flamed. ‘Lorne has made her decision. James and I have decided ta leave her to her fate. We were about to leave for Drumgow, but this changes things.’
Momentarily distracted, the sound of clattering hooves from the other side of the courtyard turned all their heads. The newcomer was a young man. Soaked and muddy, it was clear he had ridden far. Recognising Robert and James, he dismounted, and with long strides he came across to them. Iain looked at him with steely eyes. Of medium height, markedly upright in bearing, and with a serious countenance, he bore no likeness whatsoever in looks or physique to his older brother, Duncan Galbraith.
Robert acknowledged him with a blank face and a brief nod. ‘Rory! I didna expect ta see ye here in Stirling.’
‘I’m on my way back to Edinburgh from Kinlochalen.’
Though he had no fondness for Duncan Galbraith, Robert’s opinion of his younger brother’s devotion to family and duty was high. He turned to Iain. ‘This is Rory Galbraith,’ he offered.
Quickly the studious young man looked at Iain. If he thought it strange to find the three of them together, he gave no sign of it. His manner was civil but still, wary and noticeably more courtly than the McBrydes. He nodded briefly. ‘Your servant, sir.’
Iain ignored him, for it was at that moment that James, impatient to learn what had befallen his sister, stepped forward. ‘Ye were about to tell us about Lorne, Monroe. Get on with it.’
&nb
sp; Quickly Iain told them what he knew. ‘We must find her,’ James said, clearly worried as to what could have befallen his sister.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Rory told them, already passing the reins of his horse to a hovering stable lad.
‘If we return to the house, her maid might have recovered consciousness and be able to throw some light on who might have taken her,’ John suggested, trying his best to ignore his Highland companions. As much as he would like to see all three of them consigned to hell, he could not deny that, if they were to find Lorne unharmed, their help would be beneficial.
It was a relief to find Jenny lying in bed with her eyes open.
‘Jenny, it is imperative that you try to remember what happened,’ Iain said, trying to stifle his impatience as he looked down at the pale young woman with her head bandaged. ‘Did you recognise the man who took her?’
‘No, but she called him Captain Kilpatrick. I’m almost certain that’s what his name was.’
Iain’s eyes sprang to vivid life, and his face became contorted as he absorbed the name, one single, appalling thought lancing through his brain like an arrow through flesh. Kilpatrick had Lorne! The implications of this were too terrible to contemplate. He straightened slowly, his jaw clenched. ‘My God!’ His voice vibrated about the room, hurtling violently against the walls as his formidable rage began to grow, but he quickly pulled himself together, fear for his wife overcoming all other emotions. ‘Where did he take her, Jenny?’ he demanded, gripping her shoulders. ‘For God’s sake, tell me.’
‘They disappeared into an alley—close to where you found me.’
Even as she uttered the words Iain was already running down the stairs to the men waiting below.
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