Highland Surrender

by Tracy Brogan

  “Splendid idea,” Robert said, clapping Myles on the back. “I suggest we trade him the filly for Vivi.”

  CHAPTER 33

  OBAN WAS RIFE with alehouses, and Robert was certain they’d find Sir Goodman imbibing at one. Still, locating him proved no easy task. Fiona’s feet ached from walking on the cobbled street, and still they searched, poking their heads into establishment after establishment.

  “Everyone seems to be drinking except for us,” Robert grumbled as they made their way into a stone pub with wide green doors. The place smelled of wet sheep. Vivienne sneezed.

  ’Twas there that they discovered him, sitting at a battered table and surrounded by a bevy of wenches. He was tall, redhaired, and about the same age as her husband. She’d expected someone older.

  He spotted Robert and Myles and offered a lopsided smile and a wave. “Why, what fortune shines on me this day? ’Tis the brothers Campbell, I see. Join me, my fine fellows.” He smacked his hand upon the table and nudged a lass aside with his elbow. “Make room, you bonny maidens.”

  The girls were reluctant to forfeit their spots. Some eyed Fiona and Vivienne with malice, while others looked over Myles and Robert in much the way the men had looked over the horses. Fiona half thought one might step up and run a hand along her husband’s rump. She slid her arm through his and squeezed.

  Sir Goodman blinked as if to clear his eyes, and a slow, curving smile took over his face. He stood up then and walked to them. “Why, this must be your bonny bride, Myles. Well done. Your king has done right by you, yes?”

  His manner was altogether too familiar. He should not address her husband so casually or make remarks about her, but Myles seemed not to notice.

  “Greetings to you, Sir Goodman. May I present you with my wife, Fiona Campbell. And yes, the king has my full gratitude. He is wise in every way.”

  Fiona met the man’s eyes and found all cloudiness of drink had disappeared. He stared at her, shrewd as a hawk and with a predatory gleam. In an instant, she understood the groom’s hesitation to displease him.

  She gave the slightest curtsy.

  He took her free hand in both of his, rubbing his thumbs across the back. “Lady Fiona, ’tis a pleasure. When I was young, I had the delight of meeting your mother, and now I hope we can be friends as well.”

  No other words could have surprised her more, but he let go of her hand and instantly turned to Vivienne. All of Fiona’s questions stuck in her throat like a clump of dried figs.

  Vivienne curtsied deep and long, and batted her lashes like a coquette.

  Goodman smiled. “You have not changed a whit, Lady Vivienne. How I’ve missed your smile. You must come to visit me again very soon.”

  “Nothing would please me more, Sir.”

  Sir Goodman smiled, his voice growing ever louder. “Oh, come now. No standing on ceremony on this fine day. Sit with me awhile.” He turned to the tavern wenches, waving at them like flies. “Enough now, be gone with the lot of you.” He gestured to the barmaid to clean away the soiled cups.

  Myles spoke as they took their seats just vacated by the sullen-looking wenches. “Sir Goodman, I hope this day finds you in fine health.”

  “It does, Myles. And speaking of health, how fares your father?”

  Fiona wondered at the question. It seemed news of the earl’s attack had traveled far.

  “Improving by the day, Sir. Eager to be back in the saddle and resume his duties. I’ve attended to things in his stead, however, and all is well at Dempsey Castle.”

  Fiona heard the pride in her husband’s voice and sat a little straighter in her own seat.

  “Excellent. Your efforts will be rewarded.”

  Fresh cups filled to the brim with foamy ale were set before them, and Robert scooped his up and took a hearty gulp. Fiona sipped her own and wondered at this stranger.

  “Bring us a meal as well,” Sir Goodman instructed without bothering to ask if they’d recently eaten. Or if perhaps they had made other arrangements. They had not, of course, and Fiona was famished. Still, this man was beyond presumptuous, and something was amiss, for Myles and Robert behaved as if he were a noble of the highest order. The sparks of her curiosity burst into flame.

  Sir Goodman took a hearty gulp of his ale and sat back. “That’s an ugly business about the attack,” he said, setting the cup back down. “Our enemies will stop at nothing to see Douglas back at the helm. But I’ll not stand for it. The traitorous cowards shall suffer for it.”

  “Have you heard any news of who might be behind it?”

  “News aplenty and not a lick of it reliable.”

  Her husband nodded and stole a glance her way.

  The serving girl returned and loaded down the table with plates of stew and bread. The conversation turned to the weather and other mundane things while they dined, but Fiona’s mind was whirling and it seemed to make her stomach whirl as well. She grew more certain by the moment that this Sir Goodman was something more than they pretended him to be. He dressed like a lowly farmer, and yet if he knew her mother, he must have spent some time at court.

  It suddenly felt a lifetime since she’d read her mother’s letters. In some ways, it was another life, for her mother had rarely spoken of court. Or if she had, Fiona had been too young to understand. Yet, this man had known her and called her a friend. A desperate yearning to learn more filled Fiona with a long-buried ache, a need to understand who her mother had been and all that she’d been through.

  Perhaps this Sir Goodman had some answers.

  Myles had waited until the meal was nearly ended to bring up the mare, and he sensed his wife’s growing anxiety. When the conversation lulled, he made his move. “We were at the stables today, Sir, to find my bride a fine horse. That is how we came to know you were in town.”

  Goodman took a drink from his cup. “Is that so? I intend to make a gift of a new horse to my wife as well.”

  A thumping started in Myles’s temples. “Yes, I’ve heard your wife is a most accomplished horsewoman.”

  “She is. You shall have to come and meet her when your father is well enough to travel.”

  “We would be most delighted. I know both Mother and Father would be pleased to spend the time with you. Ah, there is another matter, Sir, I wondered if I might speak upon.”

  Goodman tipped his head. “Speak, then.”

  Myles rubbed his hands together under the table. “I must ask if you are set upon the mounts you’ve chosen from the stable. The groom informed us you’d chosen seven fine beauties.”

  Sir Goodman wiped his mouth. “That groom’s a chatty fellow, nattering on about my business. Nonetheless, I’ve chosen seven, indeed. Six are matched to pull a carriage, and the other is for my wife.”

  This did not bode well. Obviously, the gray was for his bride. He sensed Fiona gazing at him from the side, waiting for him to say more.

  It must seem such a simple request to her, but Myles knew this man, and when it came to him, no request was trivial. Still, he’d promised her a horse, and that was the one she wanted. “I wonder if you might reconsider the gray, Sir.”

  Vivienne and Robert stared down at their plates, while Fiona directed her gaze toward the man across the table.

  Goodman sat back, a frown furrowing his brows. “Reconsider? I’m not prone to changing my mind. I should think you’d know that.”

  “I know, sir. Of course. But my own wife has taken a liking to that horse as well.”

  Goodman swung his gaze to Fiona. “Has she, now? You like that filly, aye?”

  Fiona straightened her spine, the telltale lift of her chin a warning sign. Myles’s gut twisted. His bride was wholly capable of saying the most inflammatory things, and this was no man to toy with.

  “I do, Sir,” she answered, calm and direct. “I had one just like her when I was a child. Were you truly friends with my mother?”

  Everyone, save Fiona and Goodman, shifted uneasily in their seats at her abrupt question, and Myles
wondered if they’d lose the horse and more.

  Myles covered his wife’s hand and murmured. “This is not the time to speak of such things.”

  But Goodman raised his own hand and leaned forward, his voice low but commanding. “Nonsense. I’ll not refuse the question.” He smoothed the front of his plain cotton doublet and took time refilling his cup with a pitcher from the table.

  Myles stole a glance at his brother, and Robert offered a discreet shrug to indicate his shared bewilderment. Goodman took a hearty swallow and returned his stare to Fiona. She sat still as a statue.

  “Indecision is a weakness. So I shall buy all seven horses, as I planned.”

  Disappointment knocked at Myles’s heart.

  But Goodman continued speaking. “However, I am also generous to a fault. And therefore, Lady Fiona, if you desire that horse, consider it yours, a wedding gift from me to you.”

  Fiona gasped and pressed a hand to her throat. “Sir Goodman, there is no need to make a gift of her. My husband has the means to pay.”

  Myles squeezed her hand to silence her.

  A chuckle tumbled from Sir Goodman’s lips. “Has he, now? Then he should consider himself most favored. But I assure you, lass, I have the means as well. And as for your mother, yes, she was a most true and loyal friend. In fact, one might argue that had she not risked her life on my behalf, I might not now be king of Scotland.”

  CHAPTER 34

  FIONA SAT BEFORE Scotland’s king in a humble alehouse, surrounded by wenches and drunkards. She had never dreamed to meet him, and most certainly not under such unassuming circumstances. She wore a simple woolen dress with not a jewel or an adornment, save her emerald wedding ring. She fought the urge to smooth her hair, for little good would it do other than to display her sudden agitation.

  This was the man who banished her family to the North, who ensured they were the enemy of many, and who stripped her father of his titles and his wealth. Yet this was also a man who professed to be a friend to her mother. Who allowed a marriage and a truce between her clan and the Campbells. What divergence in his nature allowed such contrary behavior?

  Perspiration prickled at her skin, and Myles squeezed her hand again.

  “I see I have surprised you. I’m glad.” King James chuckled into his cup. “I love a good surprise. As to details about your mother, that shall have to wait until another day. The drink has made me drowsy and I’ve need of rest.” He directed his next words to Myles, leaving Fiona feeling hollow and dismissed. Surely he could understand her eagerness to learn more? But the king was done with her.

  “Myles, I shall send my man with instructions to the groom. Take the gray whenever you wish. I’m heading toward Ballachulish in the morning, but after my visit there, I shall stop by Dempsey before heading back to Linlithgow. I shan’t make a long visit of it, for my new wife awaits me. Tell your mother not to make a grand fuss.”

  Myles smiled, yet Fiona sensed some tension in his posture. Still, his voice was smooth and easy. “I will do as you command, Your Highness, but well you know my mother. You might expect some fanfare.”

  The king laughed, along with Robert and Vivienne. It seemed they were all jovial once again, but Fiona could not join them. Too many questions, too many mixed emotions, churned in her gut. If he left on the morrow, when would they discuss her mother?

  She looked to Myles, her eyes imploring him to press on her behalf. But he gave his head a tiny shake. There would be no more answers on this night.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Fiona demanded once she and Myles were alone in their tiny room at the inn. Her nerves were frayed as an old rope, and she could not begin to decide how she felt about any of this.

  “He travels incognito of his own choosing, Fiona, and I’m not at liberty to reveal him. To do so is treason.” Myles sat down and began to unlace one boot.

  “The rest of you knew his identity. It did not seem such a secret among you.”

  “Robert and I have both traveled with him in such a manner. And Vivienne seems privy to much information with no obvious means of obtaining it. I am quite certain I don’t want to know her methods.”

  “He is the king, Myles,” Fiona persisted. “What if I’d said something that offended him? And why does he go about dressed one step above a peasant?” She paced to the window and then back to the door, chewing her thumbnail to a nub.

  “James has an odd sense of humor, I’ll admit. But it’s far easier for him to slip about and do his business without the royal trappings. It’s a game for him and helps him understand the common folk. He’s beloved by the people, you know.” He unlaced the second boot and let it fall to the floor with a thud.

  “Beloved by the people? You see only what you choose to see. Where I am from, he’s much maligned, for he thinks nothing of snatching land away from the northern clans. By his own admission, my mother was a friend, and still he sent her to a place with nothing but rocks.” She stopped her pacing to stare at him. “And what business was that about her risking her life?”

  Myles’s chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh. “Fiona, he could have thrown your father into prison, or worse. The king spared his life for your mother’s sake. And now he’s given you the horse. Perhaps it’s you who only sees what she wants to see.”

  He sat in the chair in his stocking feet, calm as a loch at daybreak. Of course he was calm. He’d known all along they were in the presence of the king. He’d not had a rug pulled out from under his feet, as she had.

  He’d not spent his life listening to a father constantly railing against King James’s ferocity and malevolence either. Tears burned at her eyes, but she would not shed them.

  “I don’t know what to make of this.”

  Myles stood and crossed over to her, sliding his hands up her arms. “Accept it. He is the king. What’s done is done. And at least he had the wisdom and grace to marry you to me.” His tone was as teasing as his touch. He squeezed her shoulders, and she fought the urge to step closer.

  “’Twas my mother’s wish we marry. The king had nothing to do with it.”

  Myles closed the narrow gap. “Then commend his generosity of spirit for agreeing to it.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Truly, Fiona. Think on it. James could have smote your father from history, and yet he chose to let him live. He did not even banish him from Scotland, as he did so many others. True, James is not merciful in all things, and perhaps your father had good reason to despise him, but in the end, it could have been much worse. So now the decision falls to you. Will you be your mother’s daughter, or your father’s?”

  “I am both,” she whispered, letting the tears slip down her cheeks unhindered. “I cannot turn my back on everything Sinclair. I was raised to loathe this king.”

  “And yet your mother sought to see him on the throne. Surely, any man she’d risk her life for deserves some respect from you.”

  “But how was she at risk? What happened?”

  He tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I know nothing of that. But I shall ask my father when we return home. Perhaps he knows. Until then, will you withhold your Sinclair judgments?”

  His words confused her, and his nearness made her body relax, even when her mind remained in turmoil. His chest pressed tight against her breasts, and he leaned down to murmur against her throat.

  “Honestly, Fiona, I don’t care what you think of this king. But if you choose to harbor ill will, hide those thoughts. He’d turn on his own mother if he thought she disrespected him.”

  She tilted her head, the warmth of his breath melting her defenses. He pressed a kiss below her ear, and she sighed, the edge of her frustration softening. “You ask me to pledge loyalty to a man who’d turn on his own mother?”

  Myles lifted his head and smiled down at her. “His mother is English. ’Tis reason enough.”

  A soft chuckle bubbled up from her throat. She could not stay angry when he smiled at her and teased like that. His desire was a tangible thin
g, weaving a web around her. She had neither the will nor the inclination to fight it. “Well, perhaps I am gracious enough to admit he provided me an adequate husband.”

  Myles frowned. “Adequate? Is that all you think of me?”

  She gave a tiny shrug, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “At the moment. But with some effort, you might change my mind.”

  His furrowed brows relaxed. “Mm. And how might I do that, Lady Fiona?” His voice became a husky whisper.

  She turned her head to kiss his mouth, but he tilted away and locked his hooded gaze on hers. “No. Tell me. How might I please you?”

  Her cheeks flamed hot, lust bridled by embarrassment. The list of naughty things she hoped he’d do with her, and to her, was long and sinful. Thoughts of the king evaporated like mist, replaced by bold images of her and Myles tangling in the sheets. But she could not explain such things.

  Instead, she pulled him toward the bed and whispered, “Surprise me.”

  CHAPTER 35

  IN THE WEEKS since returning from Oban, Myles’s wife had blossomed. Vivi and Alyssa adored her, and even his mother had taken to using a less frosty tone in her presence. Fiona’s smiles came as fast and easy as her willingness to tumble into his bed. The thought made his head spin and his groin tighten. His wife was a vixen and an angel melded into one enticing form.

  Now, nearly a month since getting her the pony, they had finally received news the king was soon to arrive at Demspey.

  His mother had left no detail to chance. Every nook and cranny of the castle was free of grime, every horse brushed to a sheen, and each Campbell within the bailey walls dressed in his or her finest.

  Banners waved and heralds trumpeted as James passed under the gate and rode to where Myles and his family stood. The earl stepped forward using a cane and greeted James warmly after the king dismounted.

  “’Tis good to see you up and well, Cedric. You look fit and hale to me.”