“The Sassenach. The one with the shiny yellow hair. Samston.”
Chapter Eighteen
Rowena glanced over her shoulder again. The two stableboys brought up the rear of the little troupe, but the two horses they’d placed between the young lads and Peter Gilling were what most concerned her. On one Dermid sat facing backward, his hands tied behind him and a sack over his head. On the other, Calder and Haws lay facedown across the saddle, every step from the horse knocking them into each other. They, too, had their hands tied behind them and sacks over their heads. And that was Highlands justice, as far as she was concerned.
She rode astride Calder’s rather fine chestnut gelding. In polite company she never would have dared do such a thing, especially in a walking dress. Or rather, previous to the past few days she would have been mortified to be caught at it. Now, it felt important that she return to Glengask on her own two feet, so to speak.
“They’re nae going anywhere,” Lachlan said from beside her.
“I know. It’s … satisfying to see them like that. I only wish we could gallop more. And trot. Trotting was the worst.”
He reached over and touched her cheek. He did that frequently, touching her, as if he still couldn’t quite believe he’d caught up in time and managed to rescue her. She’d known all along that he would reach her, but at this moment she felt so tired that sometimes she wondered if she was still Dermid’s prisoner and she was dreaming that she’d already been saved.
Bear had left them about an hour ago to ride ahead and tell Ranulf they’d rescued her. She expected all her brothers would ride out to meet them, and so likely would the Campbell—if Ranulf bothered to tell him what his grandchildren and grandnephews had been up to this time.
Abruptly she sucked in her breath. “Damnation!”
“What?” Lachlan asked, looking alarmed.
“Ranulf was supposed to marry Charlotte yesterday. I completely forgot!”
“That’s understandable. Dunnae trouble yerself.”
“But—”
“He said they would wait until ye were home safe. Now ye’re safe, and ye’re nearly home.”
Yes, she was nearly home. She wasn’t so certain that would be the end of her troubles, though. Because if Ran still meant for her to marry Lord Rob, she wouldn’t be staying. She would be with Lachlan, wherever they had to go. Whatever they had to do. Compared to being kidnapped and spending hours in a pitch-dark tunnel with rats and a man who wouldn’t have blinked at killing her, she could damned well speak her mind to her brother. Nor would she be cowed by him again.
They rounded the road where it ran along the loch, then started up the hill toward the castle. As she looked up, anxious to see the Scottish flag and the Glengask coat of arms floating above the roof, she drew in the chestnut. A relieved sob broke from her chest.
Ranulf strode down the hill toward her. Arran flanked him, and Bear was directly behind them with Mary and Charlotte on either arm. Jane hurried alongside Uncle Myles, a damp smile on her face. A hand touched her foot, and she jumped.
Lachlan had already dismounted, and with a grin he held up his arms to her. She wasn’t riding sidesaddle, and she could climb down from the horse on her own, except that she suddenly felt wobbly. “Dunnae think too much aboot it, lass,” he murmured, lifting her to the ground. “They’re happy to see ye home safe.”
Yes. That was all it was. Not that her brother and his betrothed had delayed their wedding to wait for her, or that her family had likely been worried out of their minds for three days. She was home.
Ranulf didn’t stop his approach until he enfolded her in his arms, holding her hard against his chest. For a moment she felt like the little girl she’d once been, needing her oldest brother to hug her and tell her everything was fine. But nothing was that simple any longer. And it wasn’t just her brothers she needed close to her.
“Are ye well, piuthar?” he asked, his hands around her shaking just a little.
“I have a few cuts and bruises, but naught that willnae heal,” she returned, reaching out to squeeze Jane’s hand.
“That’s what Munro told us,” Ranulf said, finally releasing her. “I still wanted to hear it with my own ears. And see ye with my own eyes.”
Now Arran had to hug her. “Bear said ye put up quite a fight, Winnie.”
“Of course I did,” she agreed. “I wanted to come home.”
“We snuck oot here the back way,” he continued. “The gathered clans and the entire household are waiting to welcome ye home, but Ran figured ye’d want a moment to breathe first.”
She nodded. “Aye. But I have something I need to say to Ran, in case he doesn’t wish to celebrate me coming back, after all.”
Arran looked down at her. “He hasnae slept in three days, piuthar. Dunnae begin an argument if ye can avoid one.”
Why did it all have to be so complicated? Of course she didn’t want to fight with Ranulf. She didn’t want to disappoint him, either. But neither was she willing to let Lachlan go. Deliberately she turned around, to find Lachlan speaking to Ranulf and Myles, the three of them taking turns glancing at their unwilling travel companions.
Perhaps Arran was correct. Perhaps she could wait until after Ranulf and Charlotte married. Whether it was her fault or not, her absence had caused them to delay their wedding. With a sigh she walked over to hug Charlotte. “I’m so sorry this nonsense ruined things,” she said feelingly.
“That is nonsense,” her almost sister-in-law commented. “I sincerely doubt that anyone has a single complaint about staying on at Glengask for an additional day or two. And whether your brother and I are married or not, we are … together.” Her cheeks darkened. “I mean to say—”
“Ye love him, and he loves ye, and the ceremony is for everyone else. The two of ye already know.”
Charlotte gave her a slow smile. “Yes. We already know.”
She looked over her shoulder at Lachlan again. “So do I.”
After everyone had their turn hugging her and asking her if she was well, Peter Gilling and the two stableboys led the horses and the Gerdenses out of sight in the direction of the stable. Ranulf took her arm and headed them toward the rear of the grand house. “I’d rather nae sneak ye into yer own house, but Lachlan wants a chance to chat with Samston before he figures oot ye’re safe.”
She nodded. “We talked aboot it.”
He glanced down at her. “Nae to rile ye up, but I’m glad to hear yer sweet voice with yer natural brogue again.”
“I’m a Highlands lass. I bit a man in the face, stampeded horses, chewed through a gag, loosed my own bonds, and hid in a five-centuries-old escape tunnel. I like London. I like dancing, and I like going to the theater. But I’m nae a Sassenach. Nor do I want to be one.”
His smile both pleased her and made her feel more than a little guilty. She’d put her brothers through a great deal, well before her kidnapping. And for heaven’s sake, she’d put Lachlan through even more. She wanted to be with him, to fall asleep in his arms. But first they had to get through the rest of the day.
Inside the house Ranulf walked her upstairs to her bedchamber, as if he thought she might disappear again. “Come doon when ye’re ready,” he said, kissing her on the forehead.
“I’ll only be twenty minutes or so.”
To her surprise, he grinned. “It’ll take ye that long to get Mitchell to stop weeping.”
With a return smile she pushed open the door and went in to assure her maid that she was indeed alive, and that yes, she could wear a gown even with her bruised shoulder and bandages on her wrists.
Lachlan had put those bandages on her, and the … rage in his eyes made her worry whether the Gerdenses would live long enough to be turned over to Ranulf. She’d grown up with scraped knees and bruises, and while he’d generally been sympathetic, they all knew she’d earned them by willingly clambering about with boys. These, though—they’d been done to her.
“Och,” Mitchell clucked, as she bru
shed out Rowena’s hair. “Ye’ve burrs and grass and most likely birds’ nests in yer lovely hair, my lady.”
“I did some rolling about in the dirt.” She smiled as she spoke; evidently she was still a lass with burrs in her hair.
“Yer brother the marquis sent lads to every cotter’s shack and hunter’s blind and inn fer a hundred miles, looking fer a sign of ye,” the maid went on. “MacLawry men came in from every corner of the Highlands to help find ye. Lord Arran wanted to follow Lord Munro and Lord Gray, but the MacLawry said we couldnae put all our lads chasing after one possibility.”
“I knew someone would find me,” Rowena returned. She’d also known it would be Lachlan, even after she’d seen him stabbed. She’d needed to believe that he would be there—not Bear, or Arran, or even Ranulf. And she wondered where he was now, because she wanted him. Heat tugged down her spine, settling between her legs.
Someone rapped on her door. While she doubted that Lord Samston would dare come calling, particularly since he wasn’t supposed to know yet that she was home, she sent Mitchell to answer the door. The maid opened the door, curtsied, and stepped back as Lachlan strolled in.
“I was supposed to go home and change clothes,” he said, gesturing at his dirty kilt, stained white shirt, and muddy boots. “I couldnae make myself leave the house withoot ye.”
“Mitchell said I had burrs in my hair,” she announced, rising from the dressing table.
“I cannae say I’m surprised,” he returned with a grin. “Ye look very fine, now. A proper lady.”
For a moment she studied his expression. “I am a proper lady. And I’m a Highlands lass.”
“Aye, that ye are.” He reached out, taking both of her hands in his. “Ye know I love ye, Rowena.”
She nodded. “I do. And I love ye too, Lachlan.” She’d tried to fall in love with someone, anyone, else, but it had never happened. It had always and only been Lachlan MacTier.
Lachlan took a breath. “I should likely be circumspect and sly, and wait to see the lay of the land before I ask yer brother’s permission to wed ye. But firstly I’m nae certain he’ll give his permission, and secondly, I dunnae want to be circumspect.” He sank down on one knee.
Oh, goodness. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. All she could hear was the hard pounding of her heart in her own ears, and Mitchell’s gasp somewhere behind her. Of course he wanted the maid there—they might require a witness. “Lachlan,” she murmured.
“We’ve been friends since ye were born, Rowena. Sometimes I think we were too close as friends, because fer a time I couldnae see ye as anything else. But I see ye now. I see how beautiful ye are, and how fierce and kind and witty. I dunnae want to waste any more time we could be spending together. I love ye. I adore ye. Say ye’ll be my wife, Rowena.”
A tear ran down her cheek. For a long moment she looked down at him. “When I was a wee lass,” she said slowly, “I imagined ye proposing to me. Ye’d be on a grand white horse, and the wind would be in yer hair. Ye’d say, ‘ye’re mine, lass,’ scoop me onto the horse with ye, and we’d ride away. But ye’re nae that man.”
He gave a slight frown. “Wh—”
“Hush. I’m speaking. Ye’re nae some imaginary lord with lightning shooting from his eyes. Ye’re Lachlan. Ye’re brave, and stubborn, and maddening, and oh, so handsome, and kind and warm and … Ye’re everything. And I love ye. And aye, I’ll be yer wife.”
With a rush he stood again, swinging her up in his arms and kissing her all at the same time. Rowena laughed. This was so much better than being carted off on a white horse by some perfect, imaginary man. She threw her arms around his shoulders, being careful of his injured one, and sank down against him.
“Oh, my!” Mitchell exclaimed, jumping up and down and clapping her hands.
Slowly Lachlan settled her back on the floor again. “Ye’ll never regret it, my fierce lass. Ye can show me London, and the parties, and the theater. I’ll nae keep that from ye.”
“I will enjoy showing you London,” she returned, “but only to visit. I’m a Highlands lass, after all.”
He grinned down at her. “Ye’re so much more than that, I ken.” Lachlan glanced over at the maid. “Nae a word aboot this, Mitchell. We’ll tell the family when the moment arrives.”
“Of course, my lord. Of course.”
Taking one of her hands again, he led Rowena to the door. “Are ye ready?”
She nodded, but knew he could feel the tremor in her fingers. For God’s sake, she’d had a harrowing twenty-four hours if she said so herself, followed by a tiring ride back north with her three captors only feet away from her. All of which made her wish Ranulf had decided to be a little less subtle. Bear had commented several times during the ride back to Glengask that a claymore just above the shoulders would end Lord Samston—and the other three—much more quickly and efficiently. Evidently she wasn’t that much of a Highlands lass, though, because just the idea made her shiver.
Neither she nor Lachlan had spoken about Lord Rob Cranach, but she knew he had to be thinking about it. Or more likely, he was wondering if Ranulf would continue pressing the suit. He’d had her all but wed just a few days ago, after all. And yes, she would be marrying, but not a Buchanan. She was spoken for.
The rest of the family stood in the foyer, and Lachlan squeezed her fingers before he released her as they descended the stairs. The sooner they dealt with Samston and the Gerdenses, the sooner they could inform Glengask that Lachlan had proposed and she’d accepted. And that whatever the marquis’s plans, they had their own.
Ranulf offered his arm, and she wrapped her fingers around his sleeve. “Ye should be walking with Charlotte,” she said, as Cooper pulled open the front door.
“Today this is aboot ye,” he returned. “And making certain ye’re safe from anyone deciding to meddle in clan affairs.”
The group started down the hill. Once they were in sight of the gathering, she had to be ready for whatever might happen. And while she might be fierce, a part of her wished her brothers and Lachlan would see to Samston and the other three and leave her out of it. Today had become the happiest day of her life, and she wanted a few damned minutes to enjoy it, to share the news with her family and friends. Instead she had to hide it, because her brother wanted something different for her than she wanted for herself.
The marquis glanced down at her. “Ye havenae asked after Lord Rob,” he said.
However sharp-witted he was, not even the MacLawry could read minds. She was fairly certain of that. “He wasnae there to greet me earlier,” she returned. “I … I forgot about him, really.”
“Had a different lad in yer mind, did ye?” he replied.
Before she could comment on that, they topped the rise. Good heavens. Mitchell hadn’t exaggerated when she’d said Ranulf had every MacLawry male out looking for her, because they were all here now—along with their wives and children. There had been nearly seven hundred people in the meadow when she’d left just over three days ago. Now, there seemed to be twice that. And they were all swarming toward her, cheering.
Lachlan stood back a little as the gathered clans closed on Ranulf and Rowena. He and her brothers had told her that she was the darling of clan MacLawry, and if she didn’t believe it today, she never would. They adored her, both because she was a MacLawry, and because of the good works she did for the poorest of them. Ranulf had concentrated on education and employment, but Rowena had made certain they were all fed and had roofs over their heads.
Samston and the others who’d settled down for luncheon at the so-called Sassenach tent joined the throng, but Bear and Arran would be watching Samston. Lachlan was looking for another man—Lord Robert Cranach. The man deserved to be flattened on principle. If nothing else, a lass had gone missing, and he hadn’t bothered to let that fact disturb his dinner. But it was worse than that. She and Cranach were—had been—practically betrothed. The bastard didn’t deserve to wish her well, because he’d never bothered to worry ove
r her absence.
Perhaps, though, he did have some sense, because Lachlan couldn’t find him—or any sign of a Buchanan, for that matter. Well, then. He would pound Lord Rob on another occasion. Now, it was Samston’s turn.
With a nod at Arran, he headed into the crowd, making his way to just behind the earl’s left, while the middle MacLawry brother moved to the right. Bear had volunteered to be his second, but then Samston would never make it to the front of the gathering, and Bear would end in prison.
At the same moment they each took one of the earl’s arms and led him forward. “What’s this?” Samston asked, scowling.
“Ranulf and Winnie want a word with ye,” Arran said. “They’ll never manage to get to ye, so we’re bringing ye to them.”
“I can walk on my own, then. And why do they want to see me? Winnie has made her feelings toward me quite clear.”
“Aye,” Lachlan took up. “Aye. And ye’ve done the same toward her.”
Samston began to pull against their hold. Together he and Arran could hold Bear down, though, so the bony earl didn’t have a chance of escaping. In a moment they stood directly in front of the MacLawry and his exquisite sister, just as Bear arrived with the Campbell beside him.
As a Sassenach, the earl likely didn’t have a true sense of what a precarious and vomit-inducing position he was in, being faced with two chiefs of the most powerful clans in the Highlands. He would know in a minute, though.
“Ah, Samston,” Ranulf drawled, his blue eyes icy. “I’ve heard a tale or two, and I wanted yer opinion on them.”
“What tales?”
“Well, firstly that ye kissed my sister and then seemed to want to use that to press her into marriage.”
“That’s nonsense. You never heard such a thing from me.”
“Aye. It’s a fortunate thing fer ye that I didnae.”
Samston tried again to yank an arm free, but Lachlan didn’t budge. He and Arran both had damaged wings, but the day they couldn’t hold their own against a man like Adam James was the day they put themselves out to pasture. “I’m your guest, Lord Glengask. I will not be held against my will.”
Mad, Bad, and Dangerous in Plaid Page 28