The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karen Marie Moning

  “I need to request a favor from you, milord.”

  Robert quirked a brow at him. “Formality between us in private, Circenn? With our past?”

  Circenn smiled faintly. “Robert, I need ask of you a boon, and that you not question me, but simply grant it.”

  Robert angled his horse closer to Circenn’s and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you mean trust you as you trusted me so many years ago when I’d fought for Longshanks against my own motherland? Do you mean grant you my faith as unwaveringly as you granted me yours when you had no reason to believe I wouldn’t cross the lines and go back to England again?” Robert’s mouth curved in a bitter smile. “Circenn, not too long ago you gave me reason to believe in myself. When you came at my summons I knew naught of you but that you were rumored to be the fiercest warrior in all the lands. I believed that with you behind me, I could regain Scotland’s freedom. You came to me, and you gave me your fealty when I did not deserve it. You had no reason to trust me—yet you did, and in the strength of your faith I rediscovered my own. Since that day I have come to believe that I have earned a place in this land again. Ask. Ask me and it is yours.”

  Robert’s words had the impact of a fist in Circenn’s gut. His king gave him his faith and trust, and he was asking Circenn to help him break a vow and perpetuate a lie. What would Robert say if he knew the truth?

  Circenn expelled a breath. “It is a woman,” he said finally. “I need you to claim her as your cousin, and when you meet her to pretend it is the renewal of an old acquaintance. Cousin by blood—Lisa MacRobertson.”

  Robert laughed. His eyes sparkled and he whistled. “With pleasure. It is long past time you took a wife and had sons to continue your line. This land needs your blood to fight for our freedom.”

  “It is not that kind of—”

  “Please!” Robert raised his hands. “I see in your eyes what kind of situation it is. I see passion I have seen only in battle. I also see discomfort, which tells me you have deep feelings about this matter. And since I haven’t seen any feeling in you for far too long, I am pleased. It is done. I am eager to reacquaint myself with my ‘cousin.’”

  Deep feelings indeed, Circenn thought morosely. Deep disgust with myself. But if Robert needed to believe there was marriage interest in order to acknowledge her, so be it. The end result was what mattered. In a few hours, he, his men, and Lisa would be on their way to Brodie, and Robert would have no more involvement in the issue. She need never know he had secured the king’s cooperation by leading him to believe he cared for her. Circenn remained silent, wallowing in his guilt, ashamed that his king trusted him so readily.

  “Do you recall when we were in the caves in the valley of North Esk?” Robert asked, his gaze on the horizon.

  “Aye.”

  “It was the blackest hour of my life. I had warred against my own motherland for wealth, land, and Longshanks’ promise that he would spare my clan. Whether from sharing too much whisky with you, or inspired by a moment of divine clarity, I saw myself as I was—a traitor to my own people. Do you recall the spider?”

  Circenn smiled. Did he recall the spider? He’d coaxed it in, compelled it to perform its feat before Robert’s eyes as he lay healing from battle wounds, and in watching the spider try time and again to weave a web across a span of futility, Robert had remembered his own strength and determination. When the spider had succeeded on the seventh try, Robert the Bruce had dragged his battered body and soul from the damp soil of the cave and shaken his fist toward the sky, and the battle to liberate Scotland had begun in earnest.

  Robert regarded him intently. “I have never seen a spider of that kind, before or since. One almost wonders if it was a natural occurrence. I do not question some things, Circenn. Now take me to your woman.”

  * * *

  After Duncan left her chamber, Lisa waited three minutes, impatiently tapping her foot, then ventured into the hall, determined to track down the flask. She’d made it no more than halfway down the corridor when Duncan came storming back up the stairs.

  “I thought you’d left,” she exclaimed.

  “I did. Then I looked out the window. We have a problem and I suggest you pack.”

  “Pack what? I don’t have anything!”

  “Circenn’s things. Put them in the chests and the men will load them. We’ll be riding out very soon. As soon as we can possibly manage. As soon as I can sneak you out of the castle,” he muttered, glancing nervously about.

  “To where?” she exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”

  Duncan stalked to her side, took her none-too-gently by the arm, and steered her back down the hall and into Circenn’s chambers. “I am not going to ask what you were doing outside of your room. I feel better not knowing. But, lass, as I glanced out the window I saw your ‘cousin’ arriving to relieve our post at Dunnottar. Unless you wish to encounter him and reminisce over old times that never happened, I suggest you keep out of sight and do as I tell you. Would you please indulge me and exercise blind obedience now? It may keep you alive.”

  “Would someone really try to harm me if they knew I was from the future?”

  Duncan’s expression was glum. “The Templars doona trust women, they doona care for Druid magic, and they feel there is never a reason to break an oath. Should they discover Circenn lied about you, they will lose faith in him, and if they do that, he will not be in much of a position to protect you. Not to mention the fact that the Bruce will also wonder who you are. Then it will come out that you are from the future, and och—I doona even wish to think about it. We must hide you.”

  “I’ll pack,” she offered hastily.

  “Good lass.” Duncan whirled around and raced back down the corridor.

  * * *

  Lisa finished packing in fifteen minutes, having simply thrown everything that wasn’t too heavy to move into the many chests scattered about the room. Afterward, she paced between the door and the window for another ten minutes, trying to convince herself that she must not, under any circumstances, leave the room.

  It wasn’t working. In the keep just below her room, there were legends walking, talking, planning. Unable to resist the lure of the voices of history, she slipped from the chamber and followed the noise to the balcony that encircled the Greathall. With no roof, the hall was freezing but the men didn’t seem to notice, nor did any of them look up, as they were far too engrossed in battle plans. She lurked abovestairs, surreptitiously watching from behind the balustrade, prepared to duck and cower at any moment. She knew Duncan would strangle her if he had an inkling of the risk she was taking, but the lure was irresistible: How many twenty-first-century women could lay claim to watching Robert the Bruce plan the ousting of England, battle by battle?

  Not that anyone would believe her, but there he was, standing below her, pacing, bending over maps and gesturing angrily, orating, breathing, inspiring. His voice, rich and strong, was persuasive and full of passion. God in heaven, she was watching Robert the Bruce plan to vanquish England! Chills raced up her spine.

  “Milady, would you like to reacquaint yourself with your cousin?” a man said behind her.

  Lisa winced. She hadn’t considered that someone might venture upstairs, or have been upstairs before she’d come out. She’d been so worried about someone beneath her looking up that she hadn’t devoted any attention to the stairs. This man must have slipped up while her fascinated gaze had been focused on the king. Heart hammering, she turned slowly to see who had discovered her spying, hoping that whoever it was could be persuaded not to tell Duncan or anyone else.

  It was one of the knights she’d glimpsed in the courtyard earlier as she’d watched them train. He sank swiftly to one knee. “Milady,” he murmured, “I am Armand Berard, a knight in your protector’s service. Shall I escort you belowstairs?”

  The knight rose to his feet and she noted that although they were identical in height, his neck and shoulders were as thick as a football player’s. His chestnut-brown hai
r was close cropped; his gray eyes were serious and intelligent. A thick beard covered his jaw, and she glimpsed the flash of a crimson cross beneath his multiple tunics.

  “No … er … nay, I am fair certain he’s too busy for me.”

  “Robert the Bruce is never too busy for clan,” he said. “It is one of the many things I admire about him. Come.” He extended his hand. “I will take you to him.”

  “Nay!” she exclaimed, then added more gently, “Circenn advised me to stay in my room and he’ll be upset should he discover I’ve disobeyed. He said he would see to it I had time to speak with my cousin later.”

  “He will not be upset with you. Never fear, milady. Come. The Bruce will be eager to see you again, and smitten by the king’s pleasure, the laird of Brodie will forgive your transgression. It is only natural you would be overjoyed to see your cousin again. Come.”

  He latched a hand around her wrist and leaned over the balustrade.

  “Milord!” he called down to the Greathall. “I bring your cousin to you!”

  Robert the Bruce looked up, a curious expression on his face.

  LISA FROZE. THIS WAS IT, SHE RUED. CIRCENN BRODIE might have permitted her to live, but her curiosity had just delivered the fatal blow. First, her curiosity had led her to try to get a job in a museum, so she could learn. Then her curiosity had compelled her to open the chest and touch the flask; and finally, her curiosity had led her from her room, into the middle of a deadly situation. She was doomed.

  She flinched when Armand Berard took her hand and looped it through his elbow. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, her chin slipped a notch. Never let anyone take your dignity, Lisa, Catherine whispered in her mind. Sometimes it is all one has.

  Her chin shot back up. If she was going to her death, by God, she would do it regally. During all her suffering her mother had never relinquished her dignity, and Lisa would do no less. Inclining her head, she smoothed her gown and straightened her spine.

  It seemed to take forever to descend the few dozen stairs. The hall was jammed with Templars and the Bruce’s travel-weary men, and nearly a hundred warriors gazed curiously up at her, including the furious glare of one warlord who definitely looked like he wanted her dead, and the inquisitive gaze of the king of Scotland.

  She pasted a defiant smile on her lips. As they reached the bottom, the dark-haired king broke away from the crowd. He moved toward her, his arms extended.

  “Lisa,” he exclaimed. “How lovely to see you again. You have blossomed under Circenn’s care, but I suspected you would.”

  He wrapped her in a fierce hug, and her face was buried in a thick beard that smelled of wood smoke from camping in the open country. She pressed close, concealing her stunned expression in his cheek. Circenn must have gotten to him first, she realized. He squeezed her so tightly, she nearly squeaked. When he fondly patted her rump, she did squeak, and tried to draw away. He was grinning at her.

  Close to her ear, he whispered, “Doona fash yourself, lassie. Circenn told me all. I am pleased he has chosen a wife.”

  Wife? She squeaked again as her knees weakened. Surely that oversized, scowling barbarian didn’t think she would marry him just to stay alive? She glanced over the Bruce’s shoulder and saw Circenn standing five paces behind him, eyeing her with a glare that wordlessly instructed, Obey. Behave.

  On second thought … “Did he tell you that? He promised me he wouldn’t announce it yet,” she lied glibly. If that was what Circenn had told him, and it would keep her alive, she’d go along with it for the moment. There would be ample time to amend things later.

  “Nay, lass, he didn’t say it. His eyes did.”

  Whose eyes has he been looking at? she wondered, because the only eyes she’d seen held murder in their depths.

  The Bruce smiled broadly. “May you be as fertile as the hare. We need dozens of his sons in this land.” He laughed and patted her abdomen.

  Lisa blushed, concerned that he might pat her breasts and inquire about her nursing abilities. She’d just been patted more familiarly by the king of Scotland than she’d been touched by any man, save Circenn.

  “Does your clan breed well?”

  “Uh … aye,” she said brightly, with another blush.

  The Bruce hooked an arm behind him and drew Circenn forward, hugging them together. For a moment, her cheekbone was smashed against Circenn’s chest. After a few moments of the most uncomfortable group hug she’d ever been subjected to, the Bruce flung back his head and yelled, “I give you my cousin, Lisa MacRobertson!”

  The Bruce stepped back, nudging them closer together. He took Lisa’s hand and curled her fingers into her palm, making a fist. Ignoring her look of confusion, he placed her balled fist in Circenn’s large hand. Lisa’s gaze flew to Circenn’s face and she saw the fury there, though the king seemed oblivious to it.

  “It is with great pleasure I give this lass, my beloved cousin, hand-in-fist, to my favored laird and knight in our blessed cause, Circenn Brodie, along with four additional manors outlying his demesne. The wedding will be at Brodie when we meet there in three months’ time. Hail the future mistress of Brodie?” Robert roared, smiling at them both.

  Circenn’s hand clenched around her fist. As the hall erupted into cheers, the look he turned on her was venomous.

  “Don’t you dare look at me like that! I didn’t tell him that,” she hissed. “You’re the one who told him that.”

  Circenn took advantage of the momentary chaos and pulled her into his arms. His mouth to her hair, he growled in a brogue thickened by anger, “I did not tell him that. The king decided, wholly independent of me, so, lass, if you truly can be leaving this century, I suggest you set your mind to determining how to do so, long before the third moon passes. Or you’ll be finding yourself wed to me, and I promise, lass, you will not fare well for it.”

  “A kiss to seal it, Brodie!” the Bruce cried.

  Only Lisa saw the fierce look on his face before he kissed her punishingly.

  * * *

  Galan found Duncan lying on the floor of the kitchen, clutching his sides. Every few seconds he drew a deep, wheezing breath, stuttered, then lost himself again in waves of laughter.

  Galan watched him repeat the ridiculous sequence several times before nudging him with the toe of his boot. “Would you stop it,” he said disgustedly.

  Duncan gasped, pounding his chest with his fist, then collapsed again into guffaws. “D-did—ah-hahaha—did you see his f-face?” Duncan roared, holding his stomach.

  Galan’s lips twitched, and he bit the bottom one to remain serious. “This is a fankle, Duncan,” Galan chastised. “Now he’s nearly handfasted to the wench.”

  Duncan’s only response was another roar of laughter. “N-nearly? H-he is!”

  “I doona know what you think is so amusing about this. Circenn is going to be furious.”

  “But he’s st-stuck!” Duncan gasped between near-sobs of laughter. Then he rose to his feet, took several great breaths, and finally managed to subdue his laughter for the moment, yet the corners of his mouth twitched furiously. “Doona you see what must have happened, Galan? Circenn must have requested the Bruce acknowledge her, and the king—knowing Circenn is of Brude descent—assumed Circenn wished her to be of royal alliance so he might wed her. So, Robert took it a little further, kindly thinking he was clearing the way for the woman to be accepted as his wife. Thinking he was giving Circenn exactly what he wanted.”

  “Oh, really?” a cool voice said.

  Duncan and Galan both sobered to immediate attention.

  “Milord.” They nodded respectfully.

  “You underestimate me,” Robert the Bruce said softly.

  “Where’s Circenn?” Galan asked, glancing warily behind the Bruce.

  “I left Circenn in the Greathall, accepting congratulations with his new lady on his arm,” Robert said smugly. “Think you I doona know the man has taken one of his ridiculous oaths not to wed?”

  Duncan gaze
d at the king admiringly. “You clever bastard.”

  “Duncan!” Galan roared. “You doona address the king as such!”

  Robert raised his hand and grinned. “Your brother has called me worse, as I have him, besotted with whisky and wenches. He and I understand each other well, Galan. In fact, it was while wenching with your brother at Edinburgh that we discussed this very concern. It is no longer a concern, is it? I fixed what most of your clan has not been able to fix for years.” Robert looked enormously pleased with himself.

  Galan glared at Duncan. “That’s where you went when you said you were getting supplies? Wenching and drinking with the king? Have you no sense of responsibility?”

  Duncan smiled innocently. “Robert needed to alleviate some tension, and I know of no better way. And while we were being entertained most grandly by a few lasses, we discussed the fact that Circenn was getting no closer to making sons for Scotland. As Robert pointed out—he has managed to fix what none of us could. I, for one, am grateful.”

  Galan shook his head. “Circenn would kill us all if he suspected this wasn’t a vast misunderstanding.”

  “But he’ll never know, will he?” Robert said calmly.

  Duncan burst into laughter again, and after a brief, startled look, Galan joined him.

  * * *

  “I am not marrying you,” Circenn rumbled behind a flawless smile.

  “I didn’t ask you to,” Lisa hissed back, a smile of spun glass bowing her lips.

  With brittle displays of teeth, they glared at each other, while accepting congratulations from the various men standing in the hall. Each time they had a moment of near privacy, or their mouths and ears were pressed close together, one of them hissed at the other. To the room at large, they looked like a happily whispering couple.

  “Doona think this changes a thing,” he snapped, lips tautly stretched over his teeth.

  “I’m not the one who told him a lie,” Lisa snapped back, certain she appeared to be snarling. She smiled with effort.