Highland Surrender

by Dawn Halliday

  “Elizabeth, this is Ceana MacNab,” Cam said. “She’s the woman who found me. She is a healer from a renowned family—her grandmother has kept about every person in the Glen alive at one time or another. Now she is gone, and Ceana has come to take her place. Ceana, meet my betrothed, Lady Elizabeth Grant.”

  Elizabeth pressed slender fingers to her bosom. “Oh! I am so sorry, Mrs. MacNab. I thought you were a—”

  “Maid?” Ceana shrugged. “Aye, well, that’s understandable, I suppose. And that’d be ‘Miss’ MacNab. I’ve no husband, nor do I ever intend to have one.”

  Elizabeth’s blond eyebrows arched. “Oh? Why is that?”

  “MacNab women never marry,” Cam supplied, his lips twisting as he met Ceana’s eyes.

  Ceana tore her gaze from the earl. “Aye, it’s true. We never do. My mother never married, nor did my grandmother before her, nor my great-grandmother, who was—”

  Elizabeth released a little gasp. “You are illegitimate?”

  Ceana smirked. “Aye, it’s true. Bastard daughters, all of us.”

  “Oh, my.” Wide-eyed with interest, Elizabeth studied Ceana, and Ceana smiled. The green-eyed monster slithered away, and Ceana locked it deep inside her as she gazed at the younger woman. Something told her there was more to this lady than met the eye.

  Cam’s cleared throat drew the women’s attention back to him.

  Elizabeth sighed and reached toward him. “Does it hurt very much, my lord?”

  “Not so much,” he soothed, covering her hand with his. “Thanks to Ceana.”

  Elizabeth cut her a glance. “How fortuitous you were the one to find him.”

  “Indeed,” Ceana said. “If I didn’t, I warrant he’d be stone-cold dead by now.”

  Elizabeth’s slender throat moved as she swallowed. “Oh.”

  Cam frowned at Ceana. “You’re frightening her.”

  Ceana fought the compulsion to laugh as yet another knock sounded at the door, this one louder.

  “Come in,” Cam called.

  An older, heavyset man entered the room. If Elizabeth’s foreignness was apparent, Ceana could smell the English on this one. He possessed a red complexion and a round face with a bulbous nose. He wore a stylish wig and a patch above his lip. His cheeks were rouged—quite unnecessarily, given his skin’s natural flush—and his lips painted into a perfect moue.

  “Ah!” he bellowed. He came to a halt beside Elizabeth, towering over her petite frame. “Good gracious, Camdonn. It is so very fine to see you in the flesh after the drama of yesterday’s events. Elizabeth and I were so worried when you did not return last night. Thank goodness that . . . Oh, dear, I forgot his name”—he waved a big, blunt-fingered hand effeminately—“that burly Scottish man . . .”

  “Alan MacDonald,” Elizabeth reminded him gently.

  “Ah, yes, thank you, Lizzy, dear. Thank goodness the MacDonald chap came to tell us you had been found and would return forthwith!”

  “Thank you for your concern, Your Grace, but I have fared very well indeed,” Cam said, all gentlemanly politeness. “I am relieved neither you nor Lady Elizabeth was hurt by those villains. I only regret they caused you such distress so near to my home.”

  “Do you have any idea who they were?” asked the Englishman.

  Cam shook his head somberly. “None at all. But I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  “I am certain you will.”

  Ceana sighed. Cam’s shoulder was oozing. It required her attention, and she’d delayed long enough. It was time to take advantage of her healer’s prerogative.

  Clapping her hands, she rose from her perch at the edge of the bed. “Well, then, enough blathering. Out with you both.”

  Elizabeth nodded, but the Englishman scowled at her. “What did you say?”

  “I said you must leave. I must continue to clean the earl’s wound and apply medicinals, and you’ve wasted enough of my time.”

  The man’s mouth dropped open and his astonished gaze moved to Cam, who raised his good hand in a placating gesture. “I fear my doctor has a tendency to be officious.”

  The man’s brows shot halfway up his tall forehead. “Doctor?”

  “Your Grace, this is Ceana MacNab.” Cam continued on with his description of her healing prowess and pedigree, as he had with Elizabeth, but Ceana just stared haughtily at the man, drumming her foot on the floor planks and reveling in the tapping sound it made.

  The man looked down his nose at her. “Come, Elizabeth.” He glanced at Cam. “We will see you soon, Camdonn. Again, we are so thankful to see you well. If you need anything . . . anything at all . . . please feel free to call on me or one of my men.”

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  The man pressed his hand on the small of Elizabeth’s back and nudged her out.

  “The likes of him must be stopped if we want King James to prevail.”

  Rob set his currycomb on a bench and turned to face Bram MacGregor. Bram was a brawny man with shoulder-length thick black curls and a bushy beard. He had come from Edinburgh to work the earl’s land ten years ago. He hadn’t lived in the Glen for generations, like Rob’s family and most of the other residents, and that made him an outsider. It also meant his views were worldlier and more insurgent than the majority of the earl’s tenants. Nevertheless, due in part to his warriorlike demeanor and in part to his engaging manner, the people of the Glen listened to him.

  He and Rob had formed an alliance of sorts. Though his family hailed from these parts, Rob had spent most of his life in the busy port town of Glasgow. Life on the docks had given Rob a wider worldview, and he and Bram MacGregor understood each other in a way no one else in the Glen could.

  “You should guard your tongue,” Rob said quietly. “Do not speak out so openly against the earl. Remember you are his tenant, and the reprisals will be severe should he hear you’re rabble-rousing.”

  Bram’s lip curled. “Nay, Rob. I needn’t rouse any rabble. They all hate him. Ye’re one of the few who hasn’t openly slandered him. Even his personal guard, Angus MacLean, has turned against him, when last year he trailed after him like a puppy.”

  Angus MacLean—no near relation to Rob, thank God—possessed the intelligence of a gnat. Calling him a puppy was far too generous. Rob took a measured breath. “I haven’t enough evidence of the man’s character to make a judgment. And neither have you.”

  “Och.” Bram spat on the dirt. “Come. He’s a Whig and a Presbyterian. He bows to the Hanoverian bastard. Hell, he supports a government that forbids us to bear arms.”

  “He has a right to his politics. He’s well aware that there be Jacobites on his lands, and he doesn’t deny us our right to remain.” Nor had he upheld the newly passed Disarming Act.

  “Aye, because he’s afraid to face us.”

  “You cannot believe that.”

  “I’m certain of it. We could overcome him with no effort at all, and he knows it, so he pretends to be at peace.”

  Rob wasn’t so sure. The earl had never been popular among the people of the Glen. He’d been absent for the past half a year, but he’d been in residence the year before that. Granted he’d been distracted by Alan MacDonald’s wife during the majority of that time, but Rob had observed the man more closely than most. And though the earl might never completely agree with the Jacobite cause, Rob sensed he preferred peace and tolerance over strife and war.

  He could be wrong. Yet one very influential and respected man remained the earl’s steadfast friend: Alan MacDonald. Without Alan, Cam would be long dead by now. Rob wondered if the earl knew it. Rob doubted even Alan was aware of the extent of his influence.

  “And now he’s brought that damnable Sassenach wench . . . Hell, he’s a damned fool if he thinks we’ll simper to that bitch.”

  Remembering Elizabeth’s rushed apology, Rob stiffened. He wasn’t going to discuss Lady Elizabeth with Bram, or anyone.

  He couldn’t think of her. Not now. Not tonight. God knew he’d thought of
her enough last night. Thought of her as he’d stroked himself to a groaning orgasm, imagining his cock sliding through her sweet, hot English flesh. Imagined her pink lips parted in ecstasy; his own lips possessing them.

  Christ, it was bloody torture thinking of her. He had to stop.

  Bram was talking—about Elizabeth’s silk and lace, and how her dresses alone could feed the poor on the earl’s land through the winter months. God knew the man was right, but all Rob could imagine was sliding that silk off her body.

  Thrusting away the carnal images, he forced his attention back to Bram. “Don’t judge until you are certain. They’ve only just arrived. Before you say or do anything, be sure it is the wisest course.”

  Bram made a scoffing noise, and Rob had the sinking feeling his warnings might come too late.

  Dinner the following evening was a decidedly awkward affair. No one felt at ease, besides, perhaps, the grouse and salmon set on the table. Rob sat straight in his chair, his torso stiff, and ate uncomfortably from his silver spoon.

  The earl, pale faced from the ordeal of descending the stairs, sat at the head of the grand table, and the remainder of the party sat at the end nearest him, for if anyone were seated at the opposite end, he’d have to shout down the length of the table in order to be heard.

  Elizabeth, dressed in a cream satin that Rob’s fingers itched to touch, sat at the earl’s left and the Duke of Irvington at his right. Ceana sat beside Elizabeth, and Rob sat beside the duke, facing both women.

  Each time Rob looked up, he met either the solid gray-blue stare of Ceana or the crystalline blue of Elizabeth’s skittering gaze. It was as if the English lady didn’t want to be caught looking at him, yet felt compelled to do so. As he did her. His gaze was drawn to her again and again, and he discreetly absorbed her every feature and her every move. Her narrow waist emphasized by the taper of her bodice, the straight lines of her back and shoulders, the creamy flesh over her collarbones, the curling wisps of blond hair drifting over her shoulders.

  Ceana remained mostly silent, but her shrewd gaze took in everything. Including Rob’s constant assessment of Lady Elizabeth; of that Rob had no doubt. He ought to feel guilty, perhaps, but his pride still smarted from her rejection. Still, he had no wish to taunt her. Not to mention the foolhardiness of continuing to allow carnal thoughts of Lady Elizabeth to wander into his mind.

  “MacLean.”

  Rob’s attention snapped to the earl. Ceana had wrapped the man’s shoulder in a bulky bandage. A regal velvet dinner coat was draped over his shoulders, and the long fingers of his good hand tapped his wineglass as he regarded Rob with a steady gaze.

  “What do you make of the attack on our party?”

  “Disturbing,” Rob answered truthfully.

  “Have such random attacks become common since my departure from the Glen last year?”

  Rob and Ceana exchanged a glance. Ceana spoke first. “No, they haven’t. I haven’t heard of any similar crime since I arrived at the Glen.”

  Elizabeth patted her silk napkin to her lips and demurely gazed at her lap, hands folded. What an innocent she tried to appear in mixed company. Rob had seen a very different side of her on the ride down to the castle. There was a scorching-hot fire inside her, sparkling and blue, like her eyes.

  She was a study in contrasts, in fire and ice, in delicacy and strength, in refinement and impropriety. He craved to know her, to understand what instigated these odd disparities in her behavior.

  “How unfortunate to arrive at one’s home at the same time villains choose to infiltrate the area,” the duke said on a shudder. He dragged his napkin over the greasy remnants of grouse on his chin, then deposited a forkful of meat into his mouth.

  Cam’s gaze never left Rob. “The populace of the Glen was aware I was returning home that day, correct?”

  “Aye,” Rob said.

  “Do you believe it was a random attack, or was it planned?”

  Rob hesitated, then said, “What do you think, milord?”

  Cam lifted the glass to his lips and drank. Lowering the crystal, he gazed at Rob over the rim. “They weren’t after the riches from our luggage. If that were the case, they’d have focused the attack on the carriages.”

  Again, the man beside Rob shuddered. “Lord above. I’d heard about the wilds of the Highlands, but little did I know I’d risked my very life by visiting here!”

  “I wouldn’t have allowed any harm to come to you,” Cam said, his voice hard. “Nor Elizabeth. Please trust I would have kept you safe.”

  That earned Cam a gracious smile from Elizabeth, a smile that made Rob desperate to be awarded one of his own. Hell, haughty and spoiled as she was, she was the most alluring, engaging, confusing woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

  He glanced at Ceana, who studied him with her observant gaze, her face devoid of expression. She was beautiful too, but in an opposite way. Where Elizabeth was refined and contained, Ceana was wild and free.

  He still wanted Ceana, despite her less-than-gentle set-down of the other day.

  Was it possible to want two women at once? He glanced from one to the other. Apparently so, he thought uncomfortably. Nevertheless, Ceana had refused him, and Elizabeth was as unattainable as the Virgin Mary.

  “Of course you would have kept us safe, Lord Camdonn.” The duke nodded vigorously. “Of course.”

  “But those men—they weren’t after our riches. They were after me.”

  A stillness settled over the room. The people at the table took on the quality of the footmen standing silently in the shadows. They all sat staring at Cam.

  After a long moment of silence, Rob cleared his throat. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes. Yes, I believe I am.”

  “Well,” Ceana said in her no-nonsense way. Earlier tonight, it had come as no small surprise when she’d opened her mouth and Rob heard her speak English for the first time. She was quite fluent, too. It struck him that Ceana had experienced a more varied past than she’d led anyone to believe. “Seems they’re unhappier with you than you suspected.”

  “What’s this?” asked the duke, his pale eyes narrowed.

  “The people of the Glen are heavily in favor of King James,” Ceana explained.

  The duke scoffed. “The Jacobites surrendered to the government months ago, and the Pretender is languishing in France.”

  “Aye, but that does not mean the desire to have him on the throne no longer exists.” Ceana gestured toward Cam. “So, you see, to many, our earl represents the enemy.”

  “Their defeat was final.” The duke grunted. “Seems to me that the poor and illiterate masses are unable to comprehend the meaning of surrender.”

  Rob remained silent. The man possessed no understanding of the Highlands, yet Rob had no desire to enlighten him. It wouldn’t be worth the effort.

  Elizabeth sat quietly, a prim expression on her face, but she watched everyone with interest, and Rob could almost see the wheels churning in her head. She might be an impulsive Sassenach, but she was no fool. A fact that would benefit her if she truly planned to make a life here.

  Ceana—Ceana the intrepid, Rob thought—did respond to the duke’s statement, her tone mild. “Ah, but there you’re mistaken, Your Grace. Surrender is an understandable concept, but many have refused to concede defeat. The uprising might be delayed for a time, but it isn’t over. Not yet.”

  The duke snorted dismissively. “The Jacobites are too weak to rise again.”

  “Perhaps not soon, but Highlanders don’t forget easily.”

  The duke raised his brows at Cam as if to express astonishment at the woman’s gall in engaging in a political discussion with a duke of England. Cam missed the implication, however—he remained focused on Ceana. “Why do they persist in viewing me as the enemy?”

  “To many of them, you are naught but a Presbyterian English Whig,” Ceana said.

  “As he well should be,” the duke muttered.

  Cam looked thoughtful, and despite
Rob’s silence, the earl addressed him again. “Do you have any idea who might’ve been behind the attack, MacLean?”

  “No.” Rob sincerely hoped Bram MacGregor hadn’t been behind it—that it hadn’t been instigated by one of the earl’s own people.

  “I’d like you to keep your eyes and ears open, then,” Cam said. “If you learn anything, report it to me immediately.”

  “Aye, sir,” Rob said mildly. Though he had no desire to come between the earl and the Jacobites, should it come to that. Ultimately, he reminded himself, he didn’t know the earl or his motives. Cam had been more absent than present, and perhaps it was solely in hopeful optimism that Rob had already judged him innocent.

  “In the meantime,” Cam continued, “Elizabeth and I shall do our best to ingratiate ourselves to our tenants.”

  “You must continue to take advantage of your friendship with the MacDonald laird,” Ceana said.

  Cam slid his finger around the top rim of his wineglass and shook his head. “No. I must do this alone.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “With the help of my betrothed. What say you, Elizabeth?”

  “As you wish, my lord,” she murmured.

  After midnight, the door clicked shut as Bitsy left her for the night, and finally, finally, Elizabeth was free. She leaped out of bed and threw her cloak over her shoulders. Pulling the edges tight, she grabbed her candle, slid behind the tapestry, opened the door, and descended the spiraling stone staircase.

  When her feet touched the dirt under the bottom step, she tiptoed forward and listened at the door. No sound emerged from the room beyond, for most of the castle occupants were abed by now.

  She shoved hard at the bolt preventing the door from opening from the other side, and the corroded metal finally gave way. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the equally rusty handle and turned it. The handle squealed and the hinges groaned in complaint as she forced the door open and peeked out as the smells of onions, ashes, and salted meat rushed into the stale air of the stairway.

  The vast ground-floor room contained a massive cooking stove, rows of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, a hearth big enough for a man to sleep in, and several tables piled with kitchen implements and foods in varying states of freshness. She tiptoed past the cold ovens and the brimming shelves and into the next room, the servants’ dining room.