He’d never known himself to be a wild-tempered man. He had never felt anything to stir such intense feelings of rage before—except maybe when Logan was attempting to ravish Larena in the woods. Either way, she was the cause of it, and there seemed to be no cure. All he could think of was Larena doing what she must tonight to charm Colonel Chatham, to make sure he kept his promise to her. She might even offer additional temptations in exchange for more comfortable lodgings for her father, something preferable to the cold dungeon with the rats. She would smile at Chatham and allow him to kiss her hand, hold her in his arms, perhaps take liberties a fiancé might expect to enjoy with a woman he considered to be his property. A woman who owed him things.
Eyes blazing, his breathing ragged, Darach glanced sharply around the room.
How could she have done this to him? Led him on when she fully intended to go through with her marriage to another?
Darach’s blood exploded with ferocity. What did he have to offer her after all, but a drifter’s life with no true home? It would be day after day spent living in the saddle—or at best, in a small croft somewhere in the farthest reaches of the Highlands, where they would be forced to hide away like fugitives for the rest of their days? Love would never be enough. At least not for her, for she had proven that tonight.
Darach’s vision blurred into a sea of red, and he moved to gather up his weapons. He shoved his pistol into his belt and sheathed his sword. Then he whipped the door open, strode out into the corridor, and looked left and right, daring any man, armed or otherwise, to get in his way.
The next thing he knew, he was gathering provisions for the journey. A short while later, he mounted his horse in the stable and trotted across the bailey quickly. The fact that he had to pause at the gate and wait for the guard to raise the portcullis only fueled the fires of his discontent.
Glancing over his shoulder at the light in Chatham’s window at the top of the East Tower, he imagined Larena doing what she must to ensure her father’s survival.
Darach’s gut churned with white-hot jealousy, and he seriously considered storming up there and choking Chatham to death.
When the portcullis finally rose up on the rattle of chains through giant winches, Darach forced himself to kick in his heels and gallop across the bridge without looking back. His duty to his chief and to Larena Campbell was done. Her future and the politics at Leatham Castle were not his problem.
It was time to return home and push her from his mind forever, no matter how hard it would be to do so.
Chapter Twenty-two
Larena had done the correct thing in sending him away. It must have been the correct thing because clearly she had no will left in her heart to resist him.
God in Heaven, she had let him make love to her. How could she have surrendered to him like that? So completely and without hesitation or a single thought about her future and the commitments she’d made?
Yes, oh yes, she was right to send him away, and she must continue to convince herself of that. Perhaps eventually, her heart would believe it as well and the agony would recede, because heaven help her, she still desired him and couldn’t bear to think that she would never see him again.
But despite all her practical, mindful deliberations as she walked with Lieutenant Roberts through the castle corridors to meet Gregory Chatham, she had to fight against the urge to turn around and run straight back to her bedchamber. At the very least, she wanted to apologize for the things she had said—because the memory of the hurt she’d seen in Darach’s eyes seemed a punishment worse than death.
She had once believed that nothing could be worse than the loss of her father, but the despair she felt now over the loss of Darach matched it equally. Her heart was grieving, as if Darach had been murdered before her very eyes—and she had been the one to wield the weapon. How would she ever carry on through dinner and hide her sorrows from Gregory, the man she was betrothed to marry?
Everything felt very wrong suddenly. She supposed it had felt wrong for quite some time, but even tonight, after she had chosen to give herself to Darach, she had somehow been able to deny what she truly wanted.
They reached the top of the stairs and Lieutenant Roberts knocked on the door. Gregory called out from within, “Enter.”
The door opened and Larena walked in to find him sitting in one of the upholstered chairs before the fire. He wore his elegant scarlet officer’s uniform with ivory breeches and held a glass of red wine in his hand.
He rose immediately upon her arrival and bowed slightly at the waist. “At last.”
She was vaguely aware of Roberts backing out and closing the door behind him. There could be no turning back now. She had come to her fiancé this evening and they would dine together, discuss the future, and make plans.
Her weary gaze slid to the candlelit table beneath the window. It was adorned with a white cloth, a vase full of colorful, freshly cut flowers, and the fine gold-trimmed china that had once belonged to her father.
Her father, who was lying in a prison cell at this very moment.
She felt like a prisoner, too.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” she said, striving to put on a brave face and get through this night.
“No apologies are necessary.” Gregory strode to the table and poured her a glass of wine. “You’ve had an exhausting day and you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. I am sorry for everything, Larena. Truly I am.”
“Sorry?”
“Yes.” He faced her. “I am sorry that you had to witness your father’s arrest and face the idea of his execution.” He strode toward her, holding out the wine. “I am sorry that you had to ride halfway across Scotland to plead for his life. I am also sorry that you were attacked by rebels upon your return. I wish I could have spared you all of that.”
She forced herself to meet Gregory’s eyes as she accepted the wine from him. “Thank you, but it’s in the past now.”
“Indeed,” he replied, looking decidedly pleased, “and we must look to the future. Please, come and sit with me by the fire.”
Still troubled by the events of the evening and the persevering memory of Darach standing nude over her bed with desire in his eyes, she took a deep swig of the wine and sat down.
“We have a few minutes before supper arrives,” Gregory mentioned, “and I am glad. I wanted a chance to tell you how pleased I am that we could come to this arrangement. If you only knew how often I have thought of you—always with the utmost affection—since we parted all those years ago. I have many fond memories of our friendship.”
“As do I,” she dutifully replied.
“Really?” He sat forward, conspicuously hopeful. “You were so young. What do you even remember of me?”
“I remember that you encouraged me to read,” she told him. “I still have the books you gave me.”
He sat back, appearing both surprised and delighted. “Which ones?”
“You gave me a book on English manners,” she explained, “and a child’s book of fables. The last book you gave to me before you left was the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet.”
The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “Ah. Perhaps I fancied myself Romeo and that you were my Juliet.”
She took another sip of wine. “Good gracious, I hope not. That play doesn’t end well for either of the young lovers.”
“No, it does not.” He set his glass down on the table beside him and rested his temple on his forefinger. “I was young I suppose, and at the time, I believed it was the end for us. I never would have believed I would see you again, Larena, especially under circumstances such as these. But here we are.”
Larena lowered her gaze to her lap. She knew not what to say, for she had been with another man a mere hour ago. She had given herself to him completely and could not purge him from her thoughts.
Everything about this moment in Gregory Chatham’s presence felt disastrous. She was both ashamed and devastated by the direction her life had suddenly taken. Wh
at was she to do?
“Would you like to know what I remember most about you?” Gregory asked, tapping a finger on the armrest.
Larena looked up, waiting quietly for him to continue.
“I was twelve or thirteen years old,” he began, “and you couldn’t have been more than nine or ten. I had been backed into a corner of the library by a pack of Campbell ruffians. The lads had taken my book and were ripping the pages out of it, calling me all sorts of names I don’t care to repeat. Then you showed up with your bow and arrow, smaller than any of them, and threatened to shoot the leader, straight through the heart.”
“Did I? Goodness… Yes, I do remember that now. I didn’t actually shoot anyone, did I?”
“No,” he said with a laugh. “But you were quite fierce and they all ran out and didn’t bother me again. At least not for a long while, anyway.” He leaned forward and regarded her with narrowed eyes. “You’d forgotten about that?”
“Yes,” she replied with a small smirk at her girlhood mischiefs.
A muscle flicked at his jaw. “Well, I suppose I should consider that a blessing, because it’s not how I want you to remember me, Larena, or how I wish you to see me now.”
She stared at him, confused. “How do you mean?”
He stood and went to pour himself more wine from the decanter on the table. “I am no longer that timid boy, Larena. I know how to handle my enemies now. Though I was sorry to leave this place years ago, I am grateful that my English father came to collect me. He was very effective, you see, at toughening me up and instructing me in the arts of war. I came back here hoping to meet those bullies again on equal footing, but I was sorry to learn that most of them perished at the Battle of Sheriffmuir, years ago.”
Gregory returned to stand over her, slowly raised the glass to his lips, and regarded her over the rim as he sipped it.
Something about the way he looked at her caused a chill to skirt up her spine.
A knock sounded at the door just then.
“Wonderful,” Gregory said. “Supper has arrived.” He offered his hand to help her rise. She went with him to the table where they sat down and waited for the clanswomen to serve up their dinners.
“That will be all,” Gregory said when they were done.
After they were gone, Larena picked up her fork and made a valiant attempt to eat something, despite the fact that she possessed no appetite. How could she possibly think of food when she had been made love to that very night? Yet she had banished her lover forever, and was now dining with another who expected to become her husband.
“You look tired my dear,” he said, aggressively slicing his meat. “I cannot imagine you had an easy time of it, traveling all the way from Kinloch with that MacDonald man. I am most concerned about it.”
“Why?”
His eyes lifted. “Because I saw the way he looked at you when you walked through this door today. There was something rather sinister in his eyes. He didn’t touch you did he?”
“Of course not,” she quickly answered. “He seemed very intent upon doing his duty for his laird. That was all.”
“Hmm. But you would tell me, wouldn’t you? If he tried to disgrace you in any way? Because if anything made you the least bit uncomfortable or fearful for your safety or virtue, I would see to it that he was properly punished.”
Larena set down her fork. “He was a perfect gentleman and I owe him everything. As do you, Gregory.”
Gregory studied her eyes for a tension-filled moment. “Of course. He is gone now, I presume?”
She feigned indifference. “I have no idea. Though I suspect so. Did he not say he wished to leave tonight? I thought that’s what I heard.”
“Mmm.” Gregory slid a forkful of beef into his mouth and chewed vigorously. “There was something familiar about him, though. It put me on edge. I am still trying to figure out what it was.”
Larena’s heart began to beat faster. She forced herself to speak in a light and casual tone. “He wasn’t familiar to me at all.”
“No?” Gregory looked up with a hint of mistrust. “But you would tell me if there was anything I should know about him.”
“Of course.” She smiled and worked diligently to help the smile reach her eyes.
Noticing that her wineglass was empty, Gregory reached for the decanter and refilled her cup. “About your father,” he said as the dark wine gushed into the glass. “Did you have a pleasant visit with him?”
“As pleasant as can be expected when father and daughter are reunited in a prison cell.”
Gregory set the decanter down again. “Naturally, I understand how you must feel, but I am afraid there is not much to be done about that. He is a traitor to King George and the law is the law.”
Finding it difficult to continue her meal, she discreetly pushed her food around on her plate. “I was hoping to speak to you about that, actually. I was wondering if it might be possible to move my father to a more comfortable location for the long term. I understand that he cannot have his freedom, but since he will eventually be your father-in-law, perhaps he could be placed in the South Tower, in a room with a window. Perhaps even with a view of the loch.”
Gregory stared at her for a long moment, then he set down his utensils and sat back in the chair. “You must have misunderstood my father’s terms,” he said with a note of regret. “Surely you realize that it was an enormous concession for your father to be spared the noose at all, considering what he attempted to do. You must content yourself with the arrangements that have already been made, Larena. He will be sent to the Tolbooth at the end of the month.”
A scorching heat exploded in her belly. “The Tolbooth!”
She knew what sorts of inhumanities occurred in that notorious stone edifice. Prisoners were tortured and starved and displayed callously outside the prison walls in iron collars.
“Please, Gregory, surely you could intervene on his behalf. If you become laird here….” She paused, cleared her throat, and began again. “When you become laird, you will be my father’s keeper. His jailor, so to speak. Will that not suffice to ensure that no further uprisings ever occur at Leathan again?”
“But he attempted to incite a rebellion,” Gregory argued. “The fact that he will be allowed to live at all means he is getting off lightly.” His eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Besides, what sort of example would it set for the people of Scotland if your father was permitted to live a life of luxury in his own home, simply because his daughter married an English colonel? We cannot be perceived to show favoritism. I daresay it would cause tremendous discontentment.”
Anxiety rose up inside Larena, but she swallowed hard to keep her emotions in check. “But he will be grandfather to your children.”
Gregory slowly nodded. “I realize that, and it is unfortunate, I agree. But have no doubt, our children will be raised as loyal subjects to King George. You and I will be Laird and Lady of Leathan Castle. I cannot risk having your father plant seeds of rebellion in anyone’s mind.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“I don’t think you are in a position to know what he might or might not do. You were kept in the dark about his Jacobite activities, were you not?”
“He was trying to protect me.”
“And thank God for that,” Gregory replied, picking up his glass and taking a drink.
Larena bit back the urge to argue further, for she suspected it might do more harm than good and cause Gregory to distrust her. She could not afford to let that happen. Not when she was already at his mercy in so many ways.
She thought of Darach in that moment and felt an excruciating stab of regret over her impetuous decision to send him away. Why had she acted so hastily?
Of course, she knew why—because she had allowed him to make love to her. She had not been able to resist him, which had made her feel powerless and out of control.
And he had made her want to break an important oath.
“I suppose I do see your point
,” she said to Gregory, working hard to conceal her true thoughts and feelings. “Let us say no more about it.” She picked up her wine glass as well. “May I ask if you have given any thought to a wedding date?”
She needed to know all of his intentions. Every last one of them.
“As soon as a proper ceremony can be arranged,” he replied, “if that meets with your approval.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. “I cannot tell you how eager I am to make you my wife. If you must know the truth, it’s why I requested this Scottish commission in the first place, in the hopes that our paths would cross. Speaking of planting seeds, I did suggest an arrangement like this to my father more than a year ago. So when you arrived at Fort William, pleading for your father’s life, he must have thought it was fate. What a wonderful blessing that turned out to be.”
The effect of his words was shattering to her soul. She could not imagine how any man who claimed to care for her could be so pleased that she had been forced to flee her home and plead for her father’s life—as if his imminent death was somehow a stroke of good luck.
“That is very romantic,” she said, masking her revulsion. “May I ask another question?”
“Of course, my darling.”
“Once we are married, how long will the English soldiers remain here?”
“I cannot say for sure,” he replied, sliding his hand from hers and returning to his meal, “though I predict they will remain for as long as there are rebels in Scotland determined to fight for the Stuart pretender.”
“But that could go on forever,” she mentioned, “for men are always at odds when it comes to politics and crowns.”
Gregory wagged his knife at her from across the table. “That is true. Which is why I have made it my purpose in the Highlands to do whatever I must to maintain peace and encourage loyalty to our one true King. I must ensure that there is no threat to the Hanover succession. We must continue to punish those who promote traitorous ideas.”
Return of the Highlander Page 15