Highland Surrender

by Dawn Halliday

  She slid off the chair and sank to her knees before him, lowering her face to her hands and sobbing.

  “Rob has gone?” Abruptly, he rose and walked away from her. Clutching her skirts in her fists, tears streaming down her cheeks, Elizabeth watched him as he went to the window overlooking the stables, parted the curtains, and looked out. “Why haven’t I been informed of this?”

  “I don’t know,” she pushed out over a sob. “He . . . he left the night before last.”

  He turned from the window, frowning at her from across the room. “I don’t love you,” he said quietly. “I know nothing about you. You pretend to be someone you are not. How can I marry someone like that?”

  “Never again.” She twisted her skirts in her clenched hands. “I was so stupid. I shall never lie to you again.” After they were married and Uncle Walter was gone, that was. She had to maintain the lies until then. When Cam was safe again, she’d be honest. She’d tell him everything.

  “You still wish to marry me?”

  “Yes!”

  “Why?”

  “I . . . I need this life. I want it. I want you.”

  “Why?” he asked again.

  Rob wanted her to live. He wanted her to prevail over Uncle Walter. He wanted her to marry Cam and ensure both their safety. She knew all of it was true. He wouldn’t want her to succumb to helpless terror, nor would he want her to stop caring.

  “I will be cast off by my uncle, discarded by society. I will be shunned by the entire world.” Her sobs had receded, and she stared up at him as he came to sit across from her once again. “I know you are a good man,” she whispered. “A kind man. Please do not throw me to that fate. Please.”

  Cam narrowed his eyes. “I doubt your uncle would allow your reputation to suffer. We will end the engagement congenially. Perhaps we could say the Highlands did not appeal to you—”

  “No!” She gazed up at him through blurring eyes. “Please. I love Scotland, I truly do. I want to learn Gaelic. I want to be a Highlander in truth . . .”

  “Those are girlish notions. They have naught to do with what a life with me would be.”

  “But it’s true; I swear it. Please believe me. I don’t want to go back to England. Ever.” She swiped at the stray tear carving a trail down her cheek. “I’m sorry about Robert MacLean. I was foolish, stupid. I never meant to betray you. I’m so very sorry.”

  Cam didn’t appear persuaded.

  “There is so much at risk,” she said. “I’m not ignorant of the political importance of our match, and neither are you. You need this union. Perhaps more than I do.”

  His dark eyes narrowed. “Do you love me, Elizabeth?”

  She paused, then bowed her head. “What does it matter? Ours wasn’t a love match; it was a political pairing.” She looked up at him and tentatively laid her hand on his knee. “We could be happy together, my lord. I will be the best wife I can possibly be to you. I promise you on the lives of all I hold dear that I will never betray you.”

  He blinked. His eyes turned glassy as she stared up at him, her hands clasped in supplication.

  “I must marry,” he whispered. “I must marry and produce an heir. It is my duty.”

  She gazed at him, unable to interrupt his thoughts for fear he’d turn away.

  “What does it matter who it is?” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve made promises to your uncle. To Argyll and the king. Despite our transgressions, despite our mutual lack of love.”

  She clasped her hands before her as if in prayer. “I will make you a good, dutiful wife. I swear it on my life. On my parents’ graves, God rest their souls.” On Rob’s grave . . . She choked with the resurgence of her tears and froze on her position on her knees, paralyzed with grief.

  Cam reached down, took her hand, and helped her to her feet with an unhappy sigh. “Very well. We will go through with the marriage, as planned.”

  The next morning, Cam sat in his study. He intended to give the pretense of working on the accounts stacked upon his desk, but hell if he could work. Between the losses of Ceana and his brother, and the promise he’d made to Elizabeth, he couldn’t focus on a damned thing.

  He was still stunned by Elizabeth’s reaction to his knowledge of her affair with Rob. Instead of unearthing a girl happy to call off the marriage to a man she didn’t love, he’d discovered a woman begging him to wed her. Yet she admitted she didn’t love him.

  And Rob? What the hell had happened? Why had he left without so much as a word? Cam had assumed Rob’s feelings for Elizabeth went beyond the desire for a quick tup or two. And now he’d abandoned her out of guilt for what they had done?

  Cam didn’t know Rob well, but Rob never struck him as the kind of man who’d allow guilt to overcome him. He seemed far too proud to slink off into the night, too frightened to face the consequences of what he’d done.

  In the end, whether they were a conjured performance or not, Elizabeth’s arguments had swayed Cam. It was his personal, political, and social duty to marry. He had made promises to her, to her uncle, and to others—promises he could not renege on the day before their marriage.

  Elizabeth was not the woman for him. But then again, who was? None whom he could have. He was clearly doomed to failure in matters of the heart. He’d learned time and again that matters of the heart and matters of honor could not overlap.

  Sorcha and Ceana were right: He must marry Lady Elizabeth.

  Alan and Sorcha were busy with their new lives, their new house, and their son, and had no time for him. Rob was gone. Ceana was gone, damn it. Tomorrow he would marry a woman he didn’t love and who didn’t love him.

  He supposed he should make sure the preparations for his wedding were going smoothly. He left his study and went in search of Janet MacAdam, the housekeeper, who had assumed responsibility for the festivities.

  The tension in Cam’s shoulders built as he strode downstairs to the kitchens. Halfway down the final flight, he came face-to-face with Bram MacGregor. The man glared up at him.

  “I was just coming to look for you. Milord.”

  Cam raised a brow. Despite the man’s surly demeanor, surely the milord appellation was a step in the right direction.

  “I haven’t the time to meet with you today, MacGregor. Can you return next week?”

  Bram shook his head. “ ’ Tis of no importance. Just wished to . . . well, I wished to thank ye.”

  “For what?”

  “For the help ye offered the Roberts family.” His lips curved. “They’re fattening up, looking more hale than I’ve seen ’em in a long while.”

  “Well. Your concern for the Robertses is exemplary.”

  Bram shrugged. “Aye, well, they are my clansmen.”

  “Good. I was glad I could help. Any news of Hamish?”

  “The bastard has gone.”

  Cam sighed. “Well, we all know he’s a thief and a sot on top of it, so it’s probably for the best.”

  “Aye,” Bram agreed. “I daresay you’re right, milord.”

  Cam was mildly surprised by Bram’s change of heart, but perhaps Berta Roberts’s new position in his kitchens had served to convince the man that Cam intended to work for the benefit of his tenants rather than their demise.

  Cam moved down one stair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, MacGregor, I’m on my way to the kitchens to speak with my housekeeper.”

  “Oh, aye? Might I accompany you there, sir?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  They walked a few steps in silence; then Cam cast a sidelong glance at the brawny man. “Robert MacLean told me you’re a tracker.”

  Bram’s chest puffed up. “Aye, sir, that be true enough. I’ve a nose like a hound.”

  Cam paused, considering, then took the risk. “Did you hear that my party was set upon by highwaymen last month as we went through the mountain pass?”

  “Aye, I’d heard.”

  “Do you know who was responsible for the attack?”

  “Nay.” Bram’s voic
e was hard, flat, and final. Cam believed him.

  Cam slid him another look. “Well, then. Perhaps you might look into it for me.”

  Bram hesitated. “They weren’t thieves, were they, milord?”

  “No. They were after me alone.”

  “Jacobites.”

  “Yes. Your kind.”

  Bram’s lips twisted. “Nay. My kind doesn’t rely on pernicious, murderous ambushes in the woods. My kind possesses more honor than that.”

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  Bram sighed softly. “There be better ways to achieve victory.”

  “Yes, there are,” Cam agreed.

  “Killing our earl isna the answer.”

  “No, it is not,” Cam said. “You should know—my current heir would take pains to destroy my land and its people.”

  “Och, then ye must marry and produce an heir as quickly as possible.”

  “Yes. I must.”

  Bram took a breath and clenched his fists at his sides. “I’ll find those highwaymen, milord.”

  They walked the remaining way to the kitchens in silence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Ceana woke before dawn. She’d awakened often to check on her patient, so her sleep had been restless for the past two nights. Rob remained in a coma through the day yesterday, but, though insensible, he had begun to wake for brief periods at dusk. The waking periods lengthened throughout the night, and the dilation of his eyes had reduced. He remained weak and shaky, and still didn’t have the strength to lift himself to a seated position on Anne Tynan’s bed.

  The widow herself slept on a pallet in the other room, separated from them by only a thin screen, and Bowie had chosen to sleep under the stars along with the cart and horses.

  Ceana stood and stretched, then went to check on her patient. She lowered herself to the edge of the bed, watching his chest rise and fall with easy, steady breaths.

  He would survive. Closing her eyes, she thanked God.

  “Ceana?”

  She opened her eyes and smiled down at him. “Saints, Rob, you scared me for a while there.”

  “Where . . . am I?”

  “We’re in the cottage of the widow Tynan.” He looked confused, and she pressed a hand to his cheek, finding it clammy, but the fever that had flared last night was gone, and the jaborandi had done its work to counteract the drying effect of the belladonna. “How do you feel?”

  “Terrible.”

  “Can you manage a bit of a mild tea?”

  He looked doubtful. “Maybe.”

  She fetched the cup of green tea she’d prepared for him last night. “You’ve used up all my most expensive medicines,” she said lightly after she’d helped him take a sip.

  He frowned at her. “What happened?”

  “You were poisoned. By the Duke of Irvington, I suspect.” She said the man’s title with a shiver. He’d probably discovered Rob’s liaison with Elizabeth and thought it worthy of murder.

  Rob’s eyes widened. “Where is my wife?”

  “Your wife? Rob, love, you’re not mar—”

  “Elizabeth!” he exclaimed, lurching up on his own power. “Where is Elizabeth?”

  “Lady Elizabeth?”

  “Aye, Ceana, my wife . . . Oh, God. Oh, hell.”

  He shuddered, and sweat glistened across his upper lip. Ceana grabbed his shoulder. “Rob, you must lie down.”

  “Where is Elizabeth?”

  “I don’t know,” she said firmly. He’d gone insensible again. She thought he’d passed that stage. “Now lie down before you make yourself faint.”

  Stiffly, he lay back in the bed and remained quiet until the violent shudders died down. When his body had calmed, the feral light began to drain from his eyes. He licked his dry, chapped lips.

  “Tea?” Ceana asked.

  “Aye,” he croaked out.

  She propped his head and held the cup to his lips. He took a deep draft and settled back into the blankets.

  “We’re married.”

  Ceana stared at him in confusion. “Who’s married?”

  “Elizabeth and I. We married . . . before the duke found us.”

  “What?” she said breathlessly. “Are you . . . What? Why?”

  “She was in danger, so I took her from Camdonn Castle. I tried to save her . . . I failed.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight. “Please, you must believe me.”

  “I . . . Of course I believe you.” Either he’d succumbed to madness or he spoke the truth. Insanity was easier to believe, and yet there was no lunacy in the manner in which he spoke.

  “What day is it?” he asked quietly.

  “Thursday.”

  They stared at each other. For they both knew the truth: Thursday the nineteenth of May was the day the Earl of Camdonn intended to marry Lady Elizabeth.

  It was about five o’clock in the morning. In the best conditions, Camdonn Castle was a six-hour drive away. Cam and Elizabeth’s marriage was set for ten o’clock this morning in the chapel, to be followed by a feast in the castle courtyard.

  “Elizabeth will not marry Cam if she’s already married to you,” she said soothingly.

  “She will if she thinks me dead. She’ll believe she has no other choice.” His throat moved as he swallowed. “She knows that’s what I want her to do. Just before they took me away, I told her to marry him.”

  And Cam would marry her. Not only because it was his duty to follow through with the betrothal, but because Ceana had left him. Ceana’s own actions had stripped him of any other choice.

  Ceana stared down at Rob. He was strong. He would continue to grow stronger by the hour. He would survive, even if she pushed him to his limits today. She took his hand and squeezed it.

  “Rouse yourself, Rob. We’ve a wedding to stop.”

  “The Lord sanctify and bless you. The Lord pour the riches of His grace upon you, that you may please Him and live together in holy love to your lives’ end.”

  Elizabeth blinked at the man. As if through a thick pudding, she slowly turned to Cam as the reverend finished his blessing.

  Cam stared down at her, and the confusion she felt simmered in his expression.

  They were married. They were husband and wife now, until death separated them.

  Oh, Lord, what had they done? How would either of them survive this?

  They must. They both must.

  Cam’s hands cupped her shoulders, and a brief, forced smile crossed his face. He bent down and kissed her gently, chastely, on the lips.

  “Wait!”

  A woman’s voice, shrill and loud, sounded from behind them, from the door of the chapel. Both Elizabeth and Cam spun round.

  Ceana.

  She was breathing hard, and her skirts were muddy. From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw her uncle rise from the pew just beside her. Clothing rustled as the other attendees—nearly every occupant of Camdonn Castle was packed into the tiny chapel—turned to stare at Ceana.

  “Ceana?” Cam said. “What are you doing here?”

  Ceana ignored the crowd. Her eyes latched onto Cam. “You cannot marry her.”

  He stared at the woman for a long moment, and then closed his hand over Elizabeth’s. “It is too late. We are already married.”

  She shook her head wildly, curls flying. “No. You can’t marry her, Cam. She is not free to wed.”

  Uncle Walter snarled. The crowd began to murmur. Ceana held up her hands.

  “You cannot marry Lady Elizabeth,” she announced, “because Lady Elizabeth is already married.”

  Cam blinked hard as Rob appeared at Ceana’s side. He looked awful, pale and haggard, and it didn’t appear he could walk save for the help of Bowie MacDonald, who supported most of his weight.

  Beside Cam, Elizabeth gasped. Her hand fluttered in his own.

  “Elizabeth is my wife,” Rob grated out, his voice sounding as haggard as he appeared.

  Gasps echoed through the small chapel.

  “This is an outr
age!” Irvington blustered. “How dare you come in here and make these accusations? You . . . you swine!”

  Ceana narrowed her eyes at the duke. “Robert MacLean claims he is Lady Elizabeth’s husband. If she agrees that they are married, there has been a declaration of marriage de presenti, and their marriage is legal and binding.”

  Elizabeth squirmed, but Cam held her hand tightly, keeping her beside him. Rob stood at the door, his dark eyes focused on Elizabeth. God, Cam realized, he’d been right: Rob did love her. Whatever had happened, he had not left her intentionally.

  His attention moved to the bristling Duke of Irvington. Irvington was furious—his face was lobster red and his lips were twisted into a snarl.

  “You lie,” the duke growled. “You are a commoner, a servant. You would not dare to touch my niece!”

  Irvington knew, Cam realized. He knew all about Elizabeth and Rob’s liaison, and, somehow, he’d tried to stop Rob.

  Rob looked like . . . Oh, hell. Cam blinked hard. He looked like a corpse—pale and peeling. Ceana propped up one of his shoulders while Bowie stabilized the other. Had the Duke of Irvington tried to murder him?

  Cam glanced again at the duke. Rage built within him, but he contained it and returned his focus to Rob.

  “Is it true, Rob? Are you and Lady Elizabeth married?”

  Rob’s attention moved from Elizabeth to him. For a long moment, the brothers held each other’s gazes. Then Rob nodded. “Aye, my lord. She belongs to me.”

  Cam breathed out. God help him, it was a sigh of relief.

  The reverend’s gentle voice sounded behind Elizabeth. “Are you already married to this man, child?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said as she sobbed quietly. “Yes. Robert MacLean is my husband. We are married.”

  Cam’s gaze shifted to Ceana.

  This was as it should be. Elizabeth was Rob’s and Ceana was his. He would not allow her to escape from him this time. He wouldn’t allow her to be separated from him. Ever again.

  The murmurings rose to a crescendo as the dark figure of the Duke of Irvington burst forward from the front pew. He wrenched Elizabeth’s hand from Cam’s, and she screamed as he dragged her backward along the front row. Cam leaped to tear her away from her uncle’s grasp, but reeled to a stop when he saw the barrel of a pistol pressed against her temple.