“So much has happened, and there is so much to do, to recover from,” she began, looking past him to the fire-wrought destruction, before she looked up into his eyes. “But there is something we must speak of before we hunt down Archie.” She glanced around them at the people still handing buckets of water down the line, while others beat at the crumbled ruin of the great hall with wet cloths. Too many people present for something best done in private. “Not here.”
She grabbed his hand and made for the stairs that led from the bailey up to the wall walk where they had first kissed. It was a fitting place for this conversation.
At the top, she slipped into the same deeply shadowed spot where he’d found her once before. When he joined her, she slid into his arms and kissed him with a desperation honed with the grief she had felt when she thought him dead in the fire and the joy she knew when she found him alive. He ran his hands down her arms, over her back, cupping her face. She leaned into him, running her hands over him just as hungrily. She needed this not to be their last kiss, but that was up to him now.
The possibility that he would not take up the role she offered stilled her, though she held on to him tightly.
“We must talk,” she said, hearing the edge to her words as hope and fear laced through them.
“Of what, love?”
She looked up at him. “I named you my Protector but I did not tell you what that means and I will not hold you to it if you do not want… me.”
“Is it not clear that I want you quite desperately?”
He kissed her, softly now, holding her so close she felt the hard length of him against her stomach. A heated thrill ran through her, but she knew this was not enough.
She smiled. “Aye, but ’tis not exactly what I meant.” She tried to step back but he wouldn’t release her.
“I love you, Rowan,” he said. “I do not think I have ever loved before, but I know I love you.”
She touched a hand to his chest, just over his heart where it beat in time with her own. “That is fortunate, since I love you, too.” She took a steadying breath. “But that still is not quite the point I need to make clear.” She did step away now, putting a little distance between them so she could think clearly.
“I must explain what it means to be the Guardian’s Protector, Nicholas. I will not let you accept the position until you understand exactly what it means.”
She was wringing her hands now, and he reached out to still them, gently bringing them back to rest on his chest again.
“Tell me.”
She nodded and took a deep breath looking him straight in the eye. “It means you would be my husband.” She swallowed but did not look away from him, wanting him to see how deep her feelings for him went.
He held her gaze for long moments. She could barely draw breath as she waited to see in what direction her future lay.
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
“Aye. I know it is not the usual way of things, but for the Guardian of the Targe, nothing is usual.” She took his hands in hers now, holding them between them. “I am asking you to be my husband, Nicholas, but with that comes as large a responsibility as I have as Guardian. The Guardian’s husband is the chief of the clan.”
Shock was clear in his eyes and in the tense grip of his hands on hers, but he did not let go and she allowed herself to hope.
“But I am not a MacAlpin,” he said, as if that mattered.
“Neither is Kenneth. He is a MacGregor, like me. Elspet chose him as her Protector and he became chief here.”
“But he still lives. He is still chief.”
“Only until I marry.”
Now he dropped her hands. He started to speak, then stopped. He walked away from her, then turned and came back. He started to speak again and she stopped him.
“It is too much I ask of you. I understand.” She blinked hard, disappointment difficult to hold back.
“Nay, Rowan,” he said, once more taking her hands in his. “Nay, it is not too much to ask. You offer me the world. You offer me your love, your life, a home, a clan, a place to belong, to protect. You offer me the life of a Highlander, something I’d long since given up as impossible.
“But your clan does not trust me. They might accept me as your husband, but they will not accept me as chief. I would marry you instantly, Rowan,” he said, “but I would not do so if it causes trouble with the clan, with Kenneth. They do not trust me, and with good reason.”
“But if they came to trust you, you would accept all that is required of the Protector?”
“I would embrace it, treasure it, and do everything in my power to be a good husband to you and a good chief to the clan.”
She cupped his face in her hands and drew him into a lingering kiss.
“It is my decision alone,” she said. “I wish for you to be my Protector, my husband, and the chief of this clan. Kenneth is grief-stricken but he kens how chiefs are chosen. He will still be a valued member of the clan, a necessary counselor for you, as Jeanette will be for me. We have much to learn, we two, but together we can keep this clan from further harm. Your knowledge of the English king, and what he plans, will be invaluable in protecting us.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “I need you,” she said as she looked up into his eyes and saw her own love, and need, and yearning reflected there. “I need you here to watch over me, to call me back when my gift consumes me, to love me as no one else ever has. And I need you to let me love you.”
He pulled her close. “I would wed you this very moment, if the clan would agree, but I will not come between you and your family. Your first responsibility is to them, not to me.”
She smiled at him, her heart lighter than she had dared imagine. “They will do as I wish, but not right away. We have much to grieve this day, much to make right, and I would not take the right of passing judgment upon Archie from my uncle.” Her expression turned fierce. “I will love you no matter what anyone else says.”
He grinned at her then and swept her into another long kiss. “And I will love you, no matter what.”
ROWAN AND NICHOLAS made their way back down to the bailey where they found Uilliam, Duncan, and a knot of warriors ready to leave with them.
“We are leaving sufficient men here to see to the fire?” Rowan asked Uilliam.
“Aye, lass. There was much arguing over who would have to stay here and who would get to hunt down the vermin who killed Lady Elspet, but we settled it.” Rowan did not want to know how the argument had been settled, for she’d seen such things before and they usually included much yelling and fists flying before decisions were agreed to.
“Let us get this done,” she said, anxiety churning her empty stomach once more. “There is much work needs doing here when we return.”
There was a rumble of agreement from the warriors.
“Duncan will track the man,” Uilliam said, but he looked at Nicholas. “Do you ken where he might have headed? Was there a meeting place you had agreed to, perhaps?”
The words were surprisingly civil and Rowan realized that Nicholas had been right: He had not been trusted, but now something was subtly different. Uilliam might not trust him, exactly, but he trusted Rowan and her decision to claim Nicholas as her Protector changed much.
“I do not know for sure,” Nicholas said.
“He said he would return for me,” Rowan said. “I do not think he understands what my role is, but he saw me wielding the Targe when he took it from me. He said he would return.”
“Then he has not gone far,” Nicholas said, his face as grim at this news as the other men’s. “If he suspects Rowan is important he will want to take her to the king with the stone to collect his reward.” He looked toward the gate, considering something.
“I do not think he will be alone,” he said, his voice measured, thoughtful. “There were English soldiers in Oban when we were there. He was with me when we first came here, the day the wall fell, but he disappeared and I did not
see him for at least a sennight. He told me he had returned to Oban to send word of where I was to the king as a token of our efforts, along with news of the breached defenses here. If I had been in his position I would have had the king’s soldiers draw close to the glen so they would be nearby if I needed their aid. Archie well knows that we will be hunting him for this day’s deeds. I am sure we will find him surrounded by soldiers and they, most likely, would be camped west of here, between us and the sea.”
Uilliam was quiet, then grunted his agreement. “That is what I would do, too. Is he so predictable?”
Nicholas thought for a moment. “Archie is a good spy but he acts on his emotions more than logic and careful consideration. Sometimes that serves him well. Sometimes it does not. He is angry and he wants to hurt me for my betrayal. He would not want to make it too hard for me to find him. Aye, I believe he is so predictable, at least in this situation,” Nicholas said.
Uilliam stared at him, nodded, and led the group out to hunt down Elspet’s killer.
Archie had made it difficult for Duncan to track him, but it wasn’t impossible. The ground, where it wasn’t rock, was muddy from the rain, making it hard for Archie to completely hide his passing. Some of his tracks had washed away, but Duncan managed to find his trail again and again, first leading away from the loch, counter to Nicholas’s expectations, but then eventually winding back toward the loch just as the sun sank behind the western bens, casting fingers of golden light and indigo shadows down the length of the dark water. They smelled the smoke of a cook fire long before they came upon the English men-at-arms’ encampment.
From their hiding place in a dense thicket of young trees, Rowan did a quick count—a score of soldiers, plus Archie. Their horses were tethered to a line on the west side of their camp.
The fire was positioned near the base of a rock wall that rose a good fifteen feet or more, leaning out toward the loch. It likely had given the soldiers some shelter from the rain, though judging from the mud that made up most of the area, not much.
“No one is coming,” one of the soldiers grumbled loudly.
“Quiet, damn you!” Archie hissed. He was seated on a large boulder, his mud-covered feet drawn up out of the muck. He watched the perimeter of the camp like a hawk watched a field for mice, his head swiveling slowly as he scanned the area.
Uilliam swiftly gave silent orders for the Highlanders to spread out around the camp, sending Duncan and half of their warriors around the stone outcropping to take a position on the west side. Even though the English camp was set back from the lochside, there was insufficient cover to hide the Highlanders’ movements.
A quarter hour later Rowan heard the her-uh sound of a tawny owl—the signal that Duncan and his men were in position. Uilliam gave the countersignal and suddenly the Highlanders were rushing the camp, claymores at the ready, and shouting wildly. Rowan had been instructed to stay hidden, Nicholas by her side. They had both argued for a different tactic but Uilliam had refused to let the Guardian act as bait when there were plenty of Highlanders ready for a fight. He had forbidden them to move from their hiding place.
They watched as the Highlanders dispatched soldier after soldier, pressing the fight back against the rock face to keep their quarry from escaping. But Archie managed to stay on the edge of the fight, getting pushed closer and closer to the edge of the forest, until finally he sank his sword into one of the MacAlpin warriors, pulled it free, and sprinted into the forest.
“He’s getting away!” Rowan said, racing after him.
Nicholas passed her quickly, gaining on the man hurtling through the woods and leaving her trailing behind. She heard a sound like two elk crashing together, followed by a very human curse. She sped up and came upon Nicholas and Archie rolling on the ground, fists flying until they bashed into the wide trunk of an ancient Scots pine. Nicholas grabbed Archie by the hair and pounded his head against a gnarled root until the man lay there, stunned. Nicholas pulled back his fist to finish the man off.
“Nicholas! Stop! We need him alive.”
Archie’s sword had gone flying, or he’d thrown it at Nicholas, she couldn’t really tell, but it lay near her, the point stuck at a shallow angle in the root of a tree. She grabbed it, holding the heavy sword in two hands as she’d seen the warriors do, and moved to Nicholas’s side, holding the point toward Archie’s throat. He blinked up at her.
“Witch.”
Nicholas punched him.
“Why do we need him alive?” Nicholas asked Rowan as he flipped the now unconscious Archie onto his stomach and pulled his arms roughly behind him. He pulled off the strip of cloth Archie wore around his neck and bound his hands with it, leaving him facedown in the mud and last fall’s leaves.
“He has the stone.”
Nicholas wiped mud from his face. “So he does.” He swiftly checked Archie’s body for the sack or the stone but found neither. “Son of a whore.” He kicked Archie in the hip, hard enough to rouse him.
Archie groaned and Nicholas pulled him to his feet, leaning him against the ancient tree’s bole. He grabbed his dagger and held it to the man’s throat. “Where’s the stone, Archie?”
The ginger-haired man managed to smile and sneer at the same time. “Why should I tell you?”
“Because I shall do to you what you did to Lady Elspet.”
Archie shook his head, the smile gone, the sneer left behind twisting the man’s face. “You will not do that or your witch will never get her stone back, nor the sack with the pagan symbols painted inside it.”
“I am no witch.” Rowan stepped toward him, tired of the smirking man. “But you are a murderer and a thief.”
“So is Nicholas here. He is the same as me, driven and as free of conscience, are you not, my old friend?”
Nicholas said nothing and Archie grinned, though there was no mirth in his eyes.
“Ah, you think just because this woman lets you between her legs, you belong here? You know better, Nick. You have been between many a woman’s legs and none have tethered you before. This one is no different. I have the stone. You have the woman. I saw her in the bailey with it, as if there were some ritual she performed, though I could not tell what she did. You must know how to use them both by now. If we take them to the king, together, as always…”
Rowan held her breath, wanting to believe Nicholas was no longer the man Archie said he was, the man he admitted he had been. Nicholas stared at Archie, then started shaking his head.
“Nay, that will never happen. I will never turn Rowan or the stone or any of her kin over to Edward. He would torture her to force her to do his will.”
“Or he would kill her to keep her from falling into anyone else’s hands,” Archie said.
“Then someone else would become the Guardian,” Rowan said. “I am but the current vessel for the power of the Targe. If you, or Longshanks, were to kill me, someone else would take my place.”
“But Edward would still have the stone.”
“Aye, but without the Guardian it is only a stone, useless for anything other than holding down a parchment or propping open a door.” Rowan tried not to chew on her lip.
“Enough,” Nicholas said. “Let us return to your camp, Archie, and you can return the stone to Rowan.”
“And what do I get if I do that, Nick? Will you not kill me instantly?”
“Nay,” Rowan said. “That is for my uncle to decide.”
“So there is naught for me in this deal.”
“A few more hours of life.”
“Then I refuse.”
Nicholas grabbed the man’s arm and hauled him off the tree, dragging him back toward the encampment. Rowan followed as she tried to determine where they had leverage with this horrible man, but found none.
As they neared the camp the sound of fighting was loud. As they made their way into it, they could see many of the English on the ground, dead or dying, and a few of their warriors as well.
“Cease!” Nicholas bellowe
d, hauling Archie in front of him. “Tell them to cease fighting,” Nicholas said to his prisoner.
“Nay, I think not.”
Archie’s entire person reeked of confidence, cockiness, arrogance, and Rowan hated him for it. He had killed her aunt, set fire to her home, and now threatened her ability to protect what was left of it. She let the anger, the grief, the frustration… the hate, fill her as she called upon the energy from the earth knowing that without the focus of the Targe, what happened next would be unpredictable. She pulled hard at the energy, forcing it again, hoping she would have the stone before she lost control. The ground rumbled under their feet and she felt a swirling rise through her, searching for a way out.
“Where is my Targe stone?” she demanded, her voice harsh now, the hatred sharpening the edges of each word.
“It is yours no longer, witch.”
The rumbling grew stronger, wind whipped around the clearing, loosening pebbles and small rocks from the stone face.
“Rowan, nay!” Nicholas yelled, but she looked away, losing herself in the sensation of power that surged through her, the battering wind howling about her, drawn by hatred and grief. “Rowan, you must not. It is too dangerous. You would not bury your own.”
His words flitted around her, but the hatred pushed them away. She raised her hands, as she had done with the stone, though they were empty of it now. The power burned, but she did not care, she wanted to let it loose, to release the terrible hurt that King Edward’s spy had created within her heart.
And suddenly Nicholas was there, his hands on her face, his fingers sliding into her hair. “Rowan, no! You must not let it loose. Not here, not now. Uilliam, Duncan, and the others are too close to the wall. If it comes down you will kill your own, not just the English. You will not be able to live with yourself if you do that.”
The pressure of his hands upon her skin, the fervent tone of his voice, forced her to look at him, to remember that she had tasked him with calling her back, that she trusted him, trusted his judgment, loved him.
“It hurts,” she whispered.
Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) Page 25