My Highland Spy

by Victoria Roberts

  Only a few moments passed, and if Ruairi hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it. The Gordon stood to the side, watching. When Sutherland men hastily sent his guards to meet their maker faster than the Gordon would’ve liked, the man mounted his horse. How appropriate that the bastard would try to save his own arse and leave his men behind. When he spotted Ruairi, the Gordon’s eyes narrowed and he gave him a mock salute. He turned his mount away from the battle and Ruairi called after him.

  “Chan eil ach dearg amadan!” You’re a bloody fool!

  The Gordon looked over his shoulder as Ruairi leaped on his mount. Ruairi hefted his weapon in the air and thundered after his father-in-law as the man’s eyes widened and he paled.

  A horse moved in front of Ruairi’s path.

  “Cotrìona!” shouted the Gordon.

  “What the hell do ye think ye’re doing?” she asked Ruairi. Her eyes conveyed the fury within her as she held her mount firmly in place.

  Ruairi dismounted and approached her with long, purposeful strides. He reached out, firmly grabbed her arm, and pulled her from her mount. “Return home at once! This is nay place for a woman.” His steely tone gave her no room for debate.

  She shook off his arm. “How dare ye try and kill my father!” Her expression was thunderous.

  “Ye’ve nay reason to fear.” Ruairi pointed to the Gordon. “He runs like a bloody coward with my guard fast on his heels.”

  Before he knew what she was about, Cotrìona leaped on her mount and gave chase to the Sutherland guard. Ruairi grabbed the mane of his horse and swung his leg up over his mount. As he charged after her, he heard Fagan calling him from a distance.

  “Cotrìona! Cotrìona, stop!” As if Ruairi’s words fell on deaf ears, she continued to urge her mount faster to come to her father’s aid.

  “Father!”

  Two of Ruairi’s guards were able to cut off the retreating Gordon and two of his men. While Ruairi’s guard currently occupied those men in battle, the Gordon dismounted and tried to inch away from all the thrusts and parries.

  Cotrìona still proceeded hard and fast. Ruairi needed to reach her, stop her. No matter what his feelings were toward her, he would never place a lass in harm’s way—ever. Even if his sister-in-law was spawned from the devil, she was still his wife’s sister.

  She reached the men before Ruairi and jumped from her mount with purpose. One of the Sutherland guards shifted his stance and managed to slice the Gordon’s arm with the blade. In an effort to shield her father, Cotrìona threw herself against the front of Ruairi’s man. At the same time, Ruairi hefted his broadsword to ward off a forceful blow, but the guard quickly fell to the ground when Ruairi sliced his neck.

  The Sutherland guard shoved Cotrìona away from him. As if everything moved in slow motion, she fell into her father and gasped suddenly. She looked down, and her eyes widened.

  She was impaled on her sire’s sword.

  Without words, the Gordon pulled out his blade and Cotrìona slid to the ground. Ruairi fell to his knees beside her and rolled her over into his arms. Cotrìona watched as her father backed away slowly, retreating.

  “My apologies, Daughter, but ye fell into my blade. I told ye before. I donna need ye to save me. I am a Gordon.”

  “Mo mhallachd ort,” said Ruairi through clenched teeth. My curse on you.

  “Father…” She reached out her arms but the Gordon turned his back on her, sheathing his sword. Tears welled in her eyes and slowly found their way down her cheeks. She loved her father with a wide open heart, and when she realized her sire had taken his leave, Ruairi almost took pity upon her. The bastard had abandoned his daughter to die in the arms of his enemy.

  Ruairi placed his hand over his sister-in-law’s wound, and his fingers pooled with her lifeblood. She gasped for air, her breathing shallow. “’Tis all right, Cotrìona. I’m here with ye.”

  “Why?” she asked in a hushed tone.

  “Because ye’re Torquil’s aunt.”

  She lifted her hand to his cheek. Her eyes closed and Ruairi heard her take her last breath. He gently lowered Cotrìona to the ground and stood. Only a few Gordon men were left standing, and they were quickly bested by Ruairi’s men. His land looked like a river of blood. It was a far cry from the mossy green grass and fresh air he had reveled in only a short time ago. Now there was nothing but the stench of death.

  He turned to one of his men. “Please see to Lady Gordon. We will take her back with us.”

  “Aye, my laird.”

  Fagan studied his sword as he turned it from side to side. “What say ye? Should we have a wee bit of sport with your father-by-marriage, then?”

  Ruairi’s eyes darkened. “He was ne’er my father.”

  When Ruairi had watched the Gordon take his leave from his dying daughter, his temper had became almost uncontrollable. He was so furious he could’ve struck down the man where he stood. But deep within his soul, he knew he could never let his sister-in-law die alone.

  Shaking his head when the obvious was confirmed, Ruairi smirked. The Gordon was a daft fool. His heedless actions had set the Sutherland clan on a mission, given them a single purpose, and they would not stop until they caught the bastard.

  Ruairi, Fagan, and a few of his men rode hard after the Gordon. When Ruairi spotted the man fleeing for his life in the field below, he pushed his mount faster and thundered after his enemy. At least the Gordon didn’t get very far. That revelation came as no surprise since he was undoubtedly trying to crawl back under the rock from which he’d come. The man had the audacity to abandon his men and his dying daughter. The force of Ruairi’s anger was so strong that only one thought came to mind.

  The Gordon would die. He would accept nothing less.

  Ruairi charged across the open field, and when he was finally able to rein in his mount next to his enemy, blood pounded in his ears. His breathing was labored and his nostrils flared with fury.

  “Gordon!”

  The man glowered at him, and then he tried to turn his mount away from Ruairi in a cowardly gesture. Ruairi was tired of games. He was more than ready to bring this to an end, something he should have done a long time ago. He released the reins and leaped from his horse, tackling the Gordon to the ground with a heavy thump.

  The Gordon stood and fumbled for his sword.

  Ruairi held up his hand and stopped his men. Turning to Fagan, he snarled. “Leave the man to me.”

  Fagan shrugged with indifference. “Aye, well, let me know if ye want me to have a go at him.”

  The men watched as Ruairi faced the Gordon in a field of heather. A field of thistle would’ve been a more suitable place for the bastard to meet his demise, but who was Ruairi to choose? Consumed with hatred, Ruairi was about to strike down his enemy once and for all. When the Gordon waved his sword in front of him, Ruairi turned and looked over his shoulder, knowing Fagan would never let Sutherland men interfere.

  “My daughter’s death was an accident. I would ne’er have caused her harm.”

  “So was Anna’s.” Ruairi pulled the sword from his scabbard, and his wrist curved around with blade in hand. “Yet ye left Cotrìona to die and ran like a bloody coward.”

  The Gordon’s expression darkened and his eyes narrowed. “What do ye care? Ye ne’er cared for Cotrìona, and ye didnae love Anna.”

  “But I stayed with Cotrìona in her final moments and offered her comfort, while ye abandoned your daughter, your blood, who died by your own hand!”

  The Gordon’s voice was cold and lashing. “Nay. She died by yours, Sutherland. I should’ve known ye would ne’er aid me with Stewart. Ye always were a pain in my arse.”

  “I am nae foolish enough to send my men to be slaughtered. Ye used both your daughters because that suited your purposes. Cotrìona died for your cause, a cause that was only to gain Stewart’s favor. For God’s sake, she was your daughter.”

  “Aye, and Cotrìona was your sister-by-marriage. Anna was also
the mother of your child, my ogha.” Grandchild. “What’s your point? I grow tired of your endless words.”

  Ruairi’s eyes blazed with fire. “Nae to worry because I am done talking.”

  ***

  Torquil ran into the great hall like a whirlwind. Ruairi had lost track of how many times he’d told his son to stop and take it slow. He supposed the lad was relieved to escape the confines of his chamber, but his son needed to take it easy. It had only been a fortnight since the healer said Torquil could leave his bed, and he certainly hadn’t wasted any time in complying with that command. If only he listened to his father with that much enthusiasm.

  A chuckle greeted Ruairi as well as a pat on the back. Fagan pulled out a chair and sat down beside him. “A lad after my own heart. Naught can keep a Sutherland man down, eh?”

  “’Tis good to see Torquil and Angus up and about.”

  “I have to ask something of ye. Now that your son is well and the Gordon is dead, dè nì thu?” What will you do?

  Ruairi knew perfectly well what his friend meant because everything out of the man’s mouth lately was regarding a certain subject that he didn’t want to discuss. He didn’t appreciate being tortured by Fagan’s words.

  Ruairi shrugged with indifference. “I donna know. Mayhap ride out to see the Munro.”

  “Ye know damn well what I mean, Ruairi. What about Ravenna? I know she’s been in your thoughts more often than ye care to admit, and ye’re perfectly aware how much your son misses her. Nae a day goes by that he doesnae say as much. I know ye love her, and I believe the words she said to ye to be true. She wouldnae tell the king. Remember, tha am pòsadh coltach ris an t-seillean, tha mil ann ’s tha gath ann.” Marriage is like a bee—there’s honey in it and a sting too.

  “Says the man who has ne’er been wed. I’ve had far more sting than honey with the lasses, I assure ye.”

  “Aye, but mayhap ’tis because ye’ve ne’er found the right woman. Did ye ever think ’tis finally time for ye and Torquil to have kin again? And that particular lass, although she was English, was verra fond of ye. I am sure of it.”

  Ruairi held up his hands. “I donna want to talk about Ravenna.”

  God knew he didn’t want to talk about the lass because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. When she left, he’d felt an extraordinary void. Once the anger finally subsided and he was able to clear the cobwebs, he was able to recognize an emptiness within him that he couldn’t quite explain.

  The feeling made no sense.

  Ravenna was an English spy. He knew that, but a little voice inside his head kept reminding him that the lass had been sent to his home to betray him before she’d ever met him. The more Ruairi thought about it, the more the idea drove him mad.

  He didn’t think he had imagined Ravenna’s happiness with him, but the admission was dredged from a place beyond logic and reason. Although she’d managed to place a dagger through his heart, he wanted to believe with every fiber of his being that their time together had meant something. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d pondered Ravenna’s words, remembering the way she’d said them, the way she looked, the way her eyes met his. She’d said she loved him. Was that true? He wasn’t sure what to believe.

  There was a heavy silence.

  “I want everything back the way it was, except for the Gordon and Cotrìona’s machinations. The harsh weather will soon be upon us. At least there will be nay more slaughtering of our animals and our people will be fed. I can now sleep at night knowing my coin isnae being stolen under my own roof. Our clan and the Munro’s are both safe for now. But I donna like the way the English keep coming farther and farther into the Highlands. ’Tis inevitable that they will continue to take what isnae theirs, but until then, I want to keep the peace for as long as possible. Mayhap I should attend court and take Torquil to the Lowlands next year. ’Tis my hope that if King James notices our attendance, mayhap he’ll leave us the hell alone.”

  Fagan’s eyes grew openly amused. “Or mayhap if ye donna attend court or send Torquil to the Lowlands, the king might send a certain bonny governess to your door again.”

  “Sometimes I donna like ye.”

  “And sometimes I’m the only one who knows what’s best for ye.”

  Twenty-two

  Uncle Walter sat in the chair in her father’s study and tapped his finger on the top of the desk. He leaned forward, studying Ravenna intently. He showed no signs of relenting anytime soon. She knew he waited for her response, but truth be told, his incessant prodding was grating on her nerves.

  “I’m not ready.”

  “So you’ve said for the past six months. I think I have a fairly good idea what happened in Scotland. Grace is really concerned about you, as am I. She said you’ve been sleeping with that…er, blanket every night. I told you not to get involved. You knew better than that, and yet you continue to pine for that…Highlander.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t say it like that. The man has a name,” she said in a chiding tone. “And that blanket is called a plaid.”

  “Be that as it may, you’ve been through this many times before. I don’t understand what made this man so different.”

  “Because he was different.” There was a softness in her voice as she remembered every detail of Ruairi’s face. “He was…is nothing like we thought him to be. He’s a proud and honorable man, even more so than some of the English lords we know.”

  Uncle Walter sighed. “So what Grace tells me is true, then. You love him.”

  She detected a hint of censure in his tone, and her annoyance increased when she found that her hands were shaking. “What exactly do you want to hear, Uncle Walter? That I was a fool? It doesn’t matter what I feel or don’t feel. The assignment is over, done. There’s nothing else to discuss.”

  “Ravenna…” His tone held warmth and concern. “You know your father and I were good friends before he fell in love with your mother, my dear sister. The life you choose to lead is a solitary one, but your father never thought he’d wed, either. When he met your mother, the rest was history. You don’t choose who to love, my dear niece. Love finds you and, yes, sometimes even in the oddest of places like the Scottish Highlands.”

  She propped her elbow on the desk and leaned her forehead in the palm of her hand. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me. I’ll never forget the expression on his face. He looked at me the same way he looked at his sister-in-law, and believe me, that was far from pleasant.”

  He chuckled. “I remember the look on my sister’s face when she found out that not only did your father work for the Crown but her own brother did, as well.”

  “This is an entirely different matter, and you can’t compare the two. You and my father did many things for the Crown, working on the same side. I was under Ruairi’s roof as the enemy. He felt betrayed.”

  “You need to come to court. King James is very pleased with your efforts, and I’m proud of you. It’s not every day that the king boasts to me that my niece was solely responsible for stopping an uprising on Orkney. Setons were captured and Stewart was imprisoned, all thanks to you. I’m sure it will only be a matter of time before Laird Gordon is brought to justice as well.”

  When Ravenna didn’t respond, he added, “Word has spread of Lord Casterbrook and Grace’s betrothal.” He stood. “You know how much Grace wants to attend court. She should go. Elizabeth and Katherine will stay with us, and I’ll send a carriage for you on the morrow.” He walked around the desk and placed his hand on her shoulder. “You need to leave the manor house on occasion. This will be good for both you and Grace.”

  She reluctantly nodded.

  ***

  He hated the London court almost as much as he hated the Gordon. There were so many warm bodies in the same space that Ruairi pulled at his restricting doublet, trying to get a fresh breath of air. The women wore fanciful gowns and the English men looked much the same—well, that wasn’t entirely true. The men wore breeches, and he shifted
his bollocks underneath his kilt just thinking about it. He knew their proper English clothing was as restricting as their openly haughty attitude toward the Scots.

  “I see the look on your face, and donna whine to me. Remember ye’re the one who insisted we come to court,” said Fagan.

  Ruairi smirked. “Only because ye wouldnae leave me the hell alone. Ye’re like an incessant female. And aye, I wanted to come, but I donna have to like it.”

  “Do ye think Ian will be able to find him? ’Tis been three days already, and he’s had nay luck.”

  “’Tis my hope that he finds him verra quickly because I donna know how much longer I will be able to survive this.”

  A hand slid up Ruairi’s arm and he turned. “Would you like some company this eve?” The woman’s low-cut bodice left little to the imagination, and her wild blond locks were tossed carelessly around her shoulders. She pressed her breasts into his chest and looked as though she’d been bedded many times before. Her breath reeked of ale and something else he couldn’t quite discern.

  “Nay.” He gently pushed her away.

  The woman didn’t even have enough wit to be offended before she immediately set her sights on another target. “And what about you, handsome?”

  Fagan shook his head and wrinkled his nose. “I donna speak English.”

  She tapped her finger on his chest. “Now that’s just too bad, but we really don’t need to speak at all.”

  Fagan waved her off and shivered from head to toe as the woman slithered away. “Perhaps she left to crawl back under the rock from which she came. I have a sudden urge to bathe.”

  “Ruairi, thig an seo.” Come here.

  He looked over his shoulder to see Ian gesturing them over.

  “It wasnae as simple as I thought it would be, but I finally found him. Tha e leis-fhèin.” He was alone.

  For a moment, Ruairi hesitated, wanting to make certain he knew exactly what he wanted to do. When he paused a little too long for Fagan, his friend didn’t hesitate to give his opinion.