Beloved Warrior

by Patricia Potter

  Bear nudged the puppy, which had just opened its eyes, and licked it with his great tongue.

  It had been raining for days, and Juliana was about to go mad with waiting. There had been no word from Edinburgh, but the city was several days’ ride away.

  Diego avoided her and gave no indication whether she could expect any assistance from him.

  Even in the rain, he trained as if he had a battle to win. She watched him from her window, wondering what drove him. What was important to him? She knew no more today than she had the day she had met him.

  She did not know whether he would help her. Or whether he had reported the conversation to Rory Maclean. She doubted it, because her hosts said nothing, nor did they assign her a guard.

  The Macleans went far to make her feel at home. Rory was charming, telling her she made him miss Felicia a wee bit less. She did not believe him. She’d seen the way he looked at Felicia. There had been so much love in his gaze that she ached. What must it be like to be so loved?

  Audra laughed as the puppy rolled over. The Spaniard has taught the puppy that, Juliana thought.

  If she stayed in this room any longer, she would never leave Inverleith. The true seduction was that she really felt they would like her to stay.

  “Does it always rain like this?” she asked Kimbra, who watched her daughter like a tigress protecting her cub.

  “Aye. Too often. Does it not in Spain?”

  “There is more sun,” she tried diplomatically. In truth there was a great deal more sun.

  “I have not forgotten that picnic,” Kimbra said. “I see you are becoming restless.”

  “I am used to riding daily,” she replied.

  Kimbra nodded. “I miss it as well.”

  Juliana disliked using a common interest for her own benefit, but at the moment she would take any opportunity to leave. As quickly as possible. Every moment she stayed was like sinking farther and farther into quicksand, except this quicksand carried a different kind of danger. The longer she stayed at Inverleith, the more she wanted to linger. Forever.

  Juliana nodded. She replaced the puppy with its anxious mother in the stable and returned to the keep. She tried to find something to read in Lachlan’s room, but she was too restless. She just could not stay here while others were off deciding her destiny.

  Back to the window. The skies were still thick with bulbous clouds and a gray rain continued to fall.

  What was happening in Edinburgh? In London? In Spain?

  And when could she control her own destiny?

  PATRICK rode next to Jamie into Edinburgh. Denny, dressed in servant’s clothes, rode slightly behind him in the role designed for him.

  Every step of his mount took him farther from Juliana. He could not block the memory of the look on her face when he’d left her the last time. A mixture of anger, of hurt and, most fearful of all, determination. He remembered her courage when she’d first faced him. And the recklessness of some of her words.

  Would she try to do something rash?

  Surely not. He’d told Rory to be careful, even though she seemed content enough to his brother.

  He tried to turn his attention to the city. It had been nearly a decade and a half since Patrick had last been there, and that had been for games in which he competed against the man now riding next to him. He’d never thought to be riding beside him as a companion. Part of him still could not believe it.

  The two of them had discussed what to do with Denny. They did not know who he was, but someone at court may, especially since there were English envoys there. Some of his mannerisms and skills indicated that he was of a privileged class.

  Patrick glanced at Denny, who was also looking at the dwellings darkened with peat smoke. While Patrick knew it was a gamble that could prove troublesome if not catastrophic, Denny might remember someone, or something, that would help bring his memory back. That had become more important to Patrick as he himself had found his own place. Could he let Denny wander alone in darkness as he’d learned Lachlan had for weeks?

  Except, for Denny, it had been years. He owed the Englishman that much.

  They had done what they could to mask him. He was dressed in a servant’s saffron shirt, an old plaid and a cap. No one looked at a servant. Kimbra had used a dye to darken his hair and Felicia had suggested putting wads of paper in his cheeks. Denny had been told that if he recognized anyone, he was to slip away and meet Patrick back at the inn.

  As Denny trailed behind, Jamie caught Patrick’s glance and moved closer to him. “You are worried about your friend?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Aye. Kimbra said that Lachlan had started to remember bits of the past when the Maclean crest brought it all back,” he said.

  “We do not know whether Denny suffered the same kind of injury.”

  “Nay, but he sees and understands more than I thought. Mayhap he will see something in Edinburgh that will bring back memories.”

  The entire scheme was full of risks. But Patrick knew that since the forced signing of the Magna Carta, the English detested slavery. He could not believe King Henry would condone it. If Denny did belong to an important English family, then he might have allies, even against the powerful Viscount Kingsley. Those allies might be of use to the Macleans as well.

  Jamie planned to stay in the chambers allotted to the Campbells in Edinburgh Castle. Jamie’s father had been a close advisor to the last two kings, and as a reward the Campbells had been given chambers for their use.

  Jamie had been informed the Earl of Angus was trying to change that arrangement. He wanted the rooms for his own friends, those who leaned toward an English alliance.

  At the moment, though, they were still Jamie’s, and Jamie planned to keep them that way. He would stay in them, but Rory and Denny would take lodgings in a nearby inn.

  Patrick watched Jamie ride into the gates of the great castle. Jamie planned to ask for a private audience with the queen and announce the miraculous return of Patrick Maclean.

  Chapter 29

  THE sun finally emerged from behind clouds after nine days.

  Panic had steadily grown in Juliana. There had been no word from Patrick or the others. What if Patrick had been taken? What if Lachlan had been discovered in England? What if word had somehow leaked about the missing ship?

  Determined to leave today, she went down to the small room off the great hall to break fast. To her relief, she learned that Rory Maclean had left to settle a dispute over cattle some fifteen miles away. The sun would be close to setting by the time he returned.

  She was too worried to eat the morning meal so she moved outside and sought out the Spaniard. He was saddling his horse. Stable lads were saddling other mounts nearby.

  “You are leaving?” she asked softly.

  “Nay, I am going hunting.”

  Her eyes questioned him.

  “I was given a slow horse,” he added.

  “But weapons?”

  “One must have weapons to hunt.”

  “I will ask Kimbra for that picnic today.”

  “Audra will be with her?” the Spaniard asked.

  “Aye. I believe so.” She waited.

  He finally nodded. “Where is the picnic?”

  “She mentioned a nearby loch. To the east.”

  He nodded again. “I have seen it.” Then his lips thinned. “Patrick Maclean will come after us.”

  “He is not here.”

  “He will come.”

  “No,” she said. “He will do nothing to hurt his clan. This is better for all of us.” And it was. Patrick was drawn to her, as she was to him. But he had said no words of love and certainly none of marriage. He had left as if she was of no concern. They both had other responsibilities, he to his clan and she to her mother. And she could lay to rest forever any suspicions as to the fate of the Sofia if she convinced the Earl of Chadwick and her father that the ship sank in a storm.

  “Do you have gold? Jewels?”

  �
�You should know,” she said tartly. “You took it all.”

  “I left a piece or so. I thought you may have something else hidden.”

  “No.”

  He shrugged as if it was really of no concern. “And you trust me?”

  She hesitated long enough for the amusement to return.

  “Do you not fear riding with a convict for company?” he pressed.

  “No,” she said and knew it was true. Despite the constant amusement in his eyes as if life were a bad jest, he had in an odd way been protective of both Carmita and herself. She had seen his spurts of anger when they surfaced, but they usually faded as quickly as they came.

  He was an interesting man, but she’d never felt the pull that Patrick had for her. And he spoke English without the accent she knew she had. How he came about it, she did not know, but it would be invaluable.

  “I am not sure I can do what you want,” he said.

  She stiffened.

  “I am not yet trusted,” he added, “obviously for good reason.”

  “I think you can find a way,” she said dryly.

  “Bring your jewelry.”

  She merely nodded.

  “We will be stealing their horses. The Macleans will not take that well.”

  “You have gold from the cargo. You can leave some for them,” she said. “You will be rewarded by the Earl of Chadwick. I swear it.”

  “I do not think you are in a position to swear anything,” he said.

  “We can use my jewelry.”

  “The Macleans fancy their horses more than coin and jewelry.”

  “We can send them back.”

  His gaze bore into her. “And if I do not appear?”

  “I will find another way.”

  “I feared that,” he said. “You have no judgment in men, senorita. Your trust in me shows that well enough.” He paused, then said, “You had best go. You would not wish to raise suspicions.”

  He was right. Yet she had a reluctance to leave him and face Carmita, and her own doubts. Was she really doing the right thing?

  Now for Carmita. Carmita could not come with her. For one thing, she was an even worse liar. Secondly, Juliana would never put her maid in danger again. She was convinced that Carmita would be safe here and well protected. It would be difficult to say good-bye, but that she must do.

  She left Diego and found Kimbra. “May we go on the picnic this afternoon?” she asked.

  “Aye. I have asked Rory and he agrees, though we will have an escort. The cook is preparing a feast.”

  “How long?”

  “An hour or so.”

  “I will be ready.”

  She had to hurry. She needed paper and a quill pen. And ink.

  She knew where to find it. She went to the small room where Duncan, the steward, kept the accounts for Inverleith. She said a prayer of thanks when she had the supplies in her hands and wrote two letters—one to Patrick and Rory, the other to Felicia—and tucked them both in her dress.

  Seconds later she faced Carmita in her chamber. Carmita was cleaning one of Juliana’s gowns.

  Juliana put out her hand to her. “Come sit with me for a moment.”

  Carmita’s eyes filled with apprehension. “Is something wrong, senorita?”

  “Si. You know my father. I fear for my mother if I disappear,” she said in Spanish. “And I fear for the Macleans if anyone learns I am here.” Carmita nodded, but her hand clutched tighter to Juliana’s.

  “I must go,” she said softly. “I alone can make sure no blame comes here.”

  “But how?”

  “If I reach the Handdon, I can convince the Earl of Chadwick that the ship sank during a storm off the coast of England. A crew member saved my life but we were the only two to survive.”

  “I will go, too,” Carmita said resolutely.

  Juliana shook her head. “Two of us survived and none other. I want you to stay here with Manuel. He is happy here. You are happy here with him. Felicia and Kimbra are both kind. They will look after you.”

  “You plan to go alone?” Carmita said in horror.

  “Diego will go with me.” She silently prayed she was right.

  Carmita’s eyes narrowed. “You should have a duena.”

  “It was a shipwreck,” she reminded Carmita gently.

  “I do not trust that man.”

  “I do,” Juliana said. “You must trust me.” She paused, then added, “You love my mother, too. You know what my father will do if foiled. He will no longer have need of her. But if I wed Viscount Kingsley . . . I can bring her to England.”

  “But you love . . .” She stopped suddenly, clapping her hand over her mouth.

  “I am not free to love anyone but the man chosen by my father,” Juliana said.

  “You cannot go,” Carmita cried out. “I will tell . . .”

  “And perhaps condemn us all,” Juliana said gently. “If my father ever learns the truth he will stop at nothing to regain my dowry and take vengeance for the death of my uncle and loss of the Sofia. He can do nothing about a storm, an act of God.”

  Tears started down Carmita’s face. “I do not trust Senor Diego. He has ruthless eyes.”

  “He has done nothing to harm us,” she said.

  “I will be alone.”

  “You will have Manuel. I wish I could leave you something . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked down at the ring on her finger. It had been a gift from her mother years earlier, and she thought the value was small. But it was certainly worth something.

  The necklace and bracelet she’d been able to keep would go toward their journey and the reward for Diego. “Here,” she said, placing the ring in Carmita’s hand.

  “I cannot take this.”

  “You can and will,” Juliana said. “I want you to have it.”

  Carmita clutched it to her chest. “What if the Macleans do not want me here?”

  “I have learned something about the Macleans,” Juliana said, hurting inside. “They will find a place for you. You will be far better here than in my father’s house.” Or, from what she had heard, the Earl of Chadwick’s castle.

  Tears were coming faster from Carmita’s eyes. They broke Juliana’s heart. “I will see you again,” she said, pressing her fingers around Carmita’s. “I swear on the Holy Mother. I will find ways of getting letters and funds to you.”

  She gave Carmita a hug. “Will you get my gray gown out?”

  Carmita stood, hesitating, then slowly went to the wardrobe. Juliana quickly tucked the letters she had written into the bedclothes. She wanted Carmita to find them later, not hold them. The girl was already torn by loyalties.

  Juliana dressed quickly into the serviceable gown, then waited as Carmita brushed her hair and pinned it into a knot at the back of her head before putting on a white cap.

  “I will be back,” Carmita said suddenly, then ran out before Juliana could say anything. She sat, wondering whether Carmita was going to the Macleans. If so, she would not get beyond the gates.

  How long had it been?

  She went to the window and saw that two horses and a pony had been saddled. A Maclean, dressed in the plaid, had already mounted and was waiting patiently. Bear was waiting with the horses.

  She shivered. She was giving up everything she’d ever dreamed of for something she suspected would be a horror. Then Carmita was back, a pouch in her hand. “From Manuel,” she said.

  Juliana took it. Opened it.

  It contained a stack of gold coins.

  “I cannot take this.” Her hands trembled slightly.

  “You can send it back to him. He said he has more and wants you to have it.” Her face flushed with pride. “He likes the horses. The Maclean said he would teach him to ride. He wants to be a soldier. He understands you want to help the Macleans.”

  What if the Macleans did not understand? What if they turned Carmita and Manuel out? Or worse? But they would not, she reassured herself. It was to their advantage to keep them
here.

  “Here,” Carmita said. “I will sew the pouch into your cloak.”

  “My jewels, as well,” Juliana said, grateful now that the Highland chill usually required a cloak.

  In minutes, Carmita finished the task. Just as she finished, a knock came at the door.

  Juliana hugged Carmita. “I will never forget you. If you ever need me, contact me.”

  “Aye,” Carmita said, attempting a smile at her adoption of the Scottish word.

  Juliana tried to smile as she went to the door. Think of good things.

  “We are ready,” Kimbra said.

  Juliana nodded. “I am looking forward to it.” Lie.

  THE queen was as lovely as Patrick had heard. And Viscount Kingsley as unpleasant.

  All had gone as planned. He had his audience with Queen Margaret, alone with James, three days after his arrival. During those three days he had paid a visit to the family’s shipping office and reacquainted himself with Edinburgh. He also joined Jamie and Kingsley in a game of chance the evening before his audience with Margaret, the Queen Dowager.

  Kingsley was a cheat. He used leaded dice. Patrick had seen enough of it during his days with the French army.

  He did not call him on it. It suited Patrick to allow Kingsley to believe he was a bufflehead, a fool. He recalled the conversation. . . .

  “A Maclean, heh. Heard you and the Campbells hated each other.”

  “We did,” Patrick said.

  Kingsley raised an eyebrow.

  “Like England and Scotland, we declared a truce.”

  “And as temporary, heh,” Kingsley said, sneering. It did not take more than a moment or so to know that Kingsley felt himself far superior to Scots.

  Patrick tamped down on the bile that rose up in him. This man was to be Juliana’s husband. The thought curdled his blood.

  He thought of her back at Inverleith. The way she smelled of roses, the way her skin felt like fine silk, the way she smiled up at him as if . . .

  But first he had to deal with Kingsley.

  “I understand your family is involved in trade.”

  “Trade?” Kingsley looked offended. “A gentleman? No. My family has investments.”

  “I am interested in investments as well,” Patrick said as he threw the dice and swore lustily as a five and three appeared. “God’s blood but you have all the luck,” he said while watching Kingsley.