“Nay, love,” she answered Alina’s question. “I do not have an end, yet. They are telling their own story in their own time. But I think you might help them if you could but go to the window at night and think about them.”
Alina’s face froze. “I canna walk.”
“Ah but I see a pair of crutches.”
Alina’s face clouded.
“Lachlan made them.”
“Does that make a difference?”
“Mither said he is a traitor.”
“I do not believe that,” she said.
“I dinna, either, but mither—”
“I think Lachlan is an honorable man, and he made those crutches just for you.” More honorable than his brother.
Alina looked torn between belief and doubt.
“Things are not always as they seem,” Felicia said. Could that be true now with Lachlan? And why was she the only one to question his desertion? “You know now that I am a Campbell. Does that change the way you feel about me?”
“Oh no, milady.”
“Then should you not hear from Lachlan before judging him?”
Alina considered that and nodded, her eyes clearing.
“Now will you try your crutches?”
As an answer, Alina reached out for the crutches and stood, balancing herself slowly. Her face paled with the strain, but she held on and took several hops to the window. She rested against the edge and looked out.
Felicia joined her. Her gaze went to the men training below.
She directed Alina’s attention toward the sea visible from their room. It looked so inviting to her. She understood Rory’s fascination with it. The sea called to her as well.
Alina shivered. “It looks cold,” she said.
“Ah, but think of all the places it takes you,” Felicia said.
“Where would you go?” Alina said. “If you could go anyplace?”
“I think to India.”
“I want to stay here,” Alina said seriously.
“Why?”
“My mither and brother. And da.”
“That is a very good reason.”
“They came to see me today.”
“They did?”
“Aye. The new laird brought them in,” Alina said happily. “Da is guarding the walls,” she added proudly.
Alina’s father was a farmer and herder. He should not be guarding walls. But pride reflected in Alina’s face. The pride of the Macleans.
Felicia had noted that the sentries had been doubled. “You must be very proud of him,” Felicia said.
Alina nodded. “I am,” she said. “And Alex … and John.” She flushed.
“John?”
He came here a few days ago after I did. He confronted the Campbells when they tried to take our cattle.” Adoration was in her voice.
How had that escaped her? But then she had been preoccupied lately. “Has he been to see you?”
“Aye,” Alina said shyly. Felicia smiled inwardly. She had been besotted with her cousin when she was a child, but then he had become more like a brother. As she had grown older, a deep friendship had replaced any romantic notion.
“What will you do, milady, if your uncle comes?” Alina suddenly asked.
“I have little choice in the matter,” she replied.
“If you did? Would you leave us?”
If she had a choice?
She did not. She had discovered that in the past few weeks. Her uncle had given her no choice. Rory had given her no choice. Even Jamie, whom she had trusted, had given her no choice.
“Would you like to learn to read?” she asked, trying to turn the conversation elsewhere.
“Oh, aye, milady. I have always wanted to learn, but the priest says there is no need to teach girls.” She gazed up, her eyes lighting. “Ye know how?”
“My cousin made sure I learned.”
“Is he—”
“He is the Campbell your laird captured.”
Alina frowned as if uncertain how to respond to that.
Felicia understood. The Campbells had raided her village and killed several people. Felicia’s cousin was the son of Angus Campbell. Alina had been able to exclude her from the taint of Campbell blood, probably because she was aware that women had few choices, but she wasn’t sure that should cover Felicia’s cousin as well.
“He was not among those who raided your village,” Felicia said.
Alina nodded reluctantly. “Ye really will try to teach me to read?”
“We can start right now,” Felicia said, eager to have her mind turned to something, and someone, other than the laird.
“How?”
“Right now you should learn letters. I will say them all, and you say them after me. Then I shall show you how they look.”
Alina rose from the window seat and used the crutches to return to her bed. She sat on the side, her face tipped to one side, her expression full of anticipation.
“First, there is A,” Felicia started.
“A,” echoed Alina.
“Then B and C.”
An hour later, Alina had memorized the first half of the letters. She was quick and eager.
“I will try to find something to write on, and a quill,” Felicia said.
The only person she knew might have the materials was Douglas. She knew from the kitchen gossip that he was spending most of his time in the armory now.
She left Alina repeating the letters and walked quickly down the steps to the armory. As she expected, Douglas was there. As she had not expected, so was Rory.
She stopped in mid-step. She had known he was back, of course, but she had not expected him here. Now she knew that she should have.
“My lord,” she said with a slight curtsy, even as she tried to keep her face straight and her tone impersonal.
He looked magnificent. He was wearing a plaid and white linen shirt and soft leather boots. He also wore chain mail and held a helmet in his hand. A shield lay nearby.
He was every inch a warrior.
“My lady,” he acknowledged. “I hope you are well.”
“As well as a prisoner can be,” she said, bitterly hurt by the coolness of his voice.
“You are our guest.”
“I think not,” she retorted, making an effort to keep her tone as indifferent as his. But her gaze could not leave his.
His eyes darkened, but his facial expression did not change. Then she saw a throbbing of a muscle in his throat. He was not as indifferent as he wanted her to believe.
She forced herself to turn away from him and look at Douglas instead. “I am teaching Alina to read and write. I need paper and a quill and ink.”
Douglas glanced at Rory, who nodded.
“Aye, my lady,” Douglas said. “I will send them to your chamber later. For now, I am due to work with the laird.”
A devil danced in her head. “My thanks,” she said and turned and left.
She went up to her room. She would show him that she could take care of herself, that she was not just a woman to be used, then abandoned.
She still had the lad’s clothes she meant to use to escape. Would Rory remember them? She doubted it. They looked much like the clothes worn by many clansmen, though they were perhaps a bit richer. But then clothes were often handed down to be given by the church. She would try, anyway.
She put the trews on, then the brogans under her dress. The material was long enough to cover them as long as she did not move too quickly. She would have to glide, at least long enough to reach the armory. She stuffed the shirt inside the trews. Several petticoats covered the bulge.
She closed her door and tried to glide down the hall. She nodded at several servants as she passed them, then kept her head down as she passed the great hall.
Hopefully, there would be no one in the armory. If there was, she would have to give up the prospect of challenge. A moment she badly needed.
The armory was empty. She looked around the room. It was filled with helmets a
nd shields, swords, and even mail. Some looked very old.
She closed the door and in minutes transformed herself from a lass into a youthful soldier. Though she was slight in stature, she was not all that different from a young lad. The mail gave her more bulk, and the helmet covered most of her face.
She looked among the swords and found one that balanced nicely in her hands. Though the broad sword looked thick and clumsy, it was remarkably maneuverable, even for someone of her size and weight.
Felicia left the armory and went out to the training area. She watched as Rory battled Douglas.
Douglas was older, but she knew immediately he was skilled. She studied Rory’s movements, just as she had once studied Jamie when he trained.
She had almost bested Jamie only because he had not expected a contest. Rory would not expect a contest either.
Pride drove her now. She was not a possession to be used. She would not sit in a room waiting for men to make decisions for her.
She was only one of a number of clansmen waiting to train. Some held their shields and swords awkwardly. Others plunged against their opponent with more enthusiasm than skill.
Most were watching the duel between their laird and Douglas. Parry and thrust. Plunge forward against a shield, then move backward to avoid a counter blow. Find a weak spot. A moment of carelessness. A vulnerable body part unprotected.
She knew all the tricks. Jamie had been a good teacher.
Douglas found one of those spots, and thrust his sword toward Rory’s shoulder. He spun, but Douglas suddenly changed tactics and hit Rory’s knees, just below the shield. Rory went down.
In training, it was a defeat.
Rory stood and, as was common, invited another challenger.
She stepped forward.
A man laughed behind her.
Rory Maclean did not laugh. She could not see his eyes behind the helmet and knew hers were just as difficult to read. Before he could think, or consider who might be standing in front of him, she struck.
Surprised, he barely had time to lift his shield to counter the blow. But then he stepped backward, taking her off guard, and his sword went against a shield she barely had time to raise.
He advanced, and she was already off balance, but she took a step backward, moving just in time to avoid another blow.
Through the corner of her eye, she saw a crowd watching.
She was not going to lose.
She knew she had one advantage. He had been fighting Douglas. He was far more tired than she.
But then she had not practiced of late, either.
A sudden stroke almost took her to her knees. But she was able to turn and strike at his knees, which Douglas had hit earlier. She was so much shorter than him that it was easy.
But he wasn’t going to go down again. She heard the grunt of pain, but he remained standing.
Then he struck hard against the shield. She felt the jolt through every muscle. Yet she realized it was not as hard as it could have been. If it had been, she would have gone down. He would not hold back in training.
He knew … he’d recognized her.
How?
She struck back with all her strength, hearing the clang of her sword against his shield. It echoed through her being, the power of the thrust placing her at a disadvantage. Her sudden desperation had caused her to make a mistake.
But instead of a blow, he stepped back and kneeled in a sign of respect.
She stood there.
Shouts rang throughout the courtyard. They were for a young lad who had taken on the laird and nearly defeated him.
But she had not!
She had not wanted to be indulged. She wanted to fight a battle. Anger churned inside her. Holding her dignity intact, she turned and went inside the tower, even as she heard the sound of questions: who was the lad?
But Rory Maclean knew. And instead of fighting her, he humiliated her by not doing his best, by holding back, by pretending.
As he had pretended from the beginning.
She went straight to her room, taking the armor, the mail, and sword with her. By all the saints, she would not mind plunging it into some sensitive part of Rory Maclean.
Chapter 24
Rory had recognized Felicia almost immediately when she presented herself on the field. He had been amused at first, and then his amusement faded as he discovered she was very good, and he had to work hard not to be defeated by a slip of a lass.
He was tired. Douglas, though aging, was a superb tactician. And though Rory had the advantage of strength, he knew he could not use it against her. She was quick, and wily, and competent. She knew exactly where to land blows. And he had to withhold some of his power. He had not wanted to injure her.
How in the devil had she learned to fight with a sword?
His salute at the end did the opposite of what he intended. He had meant to honor her, but she obviously took it as an insult. He saw it in her stiff shoulders as she marched away to the keep.
He tried not to listen to the speculation. Everyone was wondering who the young lad was. No one had recognized her but himself. And that was because he knew her better than anyone.
He knew those blue eyes, and the particular grace with which she moved. He also now knew the determination. She had meant to best him. And she almost had.
Another side of the intriguing Felicia Campbell. She continued to startle him. She sang with the voice of an angel. She had joined in serving food from the kitchen when no one required it. She had healing skills as well.
And now a warrior.
He took off his helmet and ran his fingers through the sweat-drenched hair. He needed to wash, then he would visit Felicia.
Not wise.
She was obviously angry with him, and he understood why. He had bedded her, then left with little more than a careless lover’s worthless words. He had offered to take care of her, realizing too late that it was exactly the wrong thing to say.
Now he knew how wrong. She took pride in taking care of herself. He had treated her little better than a paid woman. He had not meant it. He had, instead, been too involved in accusing himself of being all kinds of a knave to consider her feelings. He had wanted to assure her he would help her. In truth he had already put a second plan into action in the event that Jamie and Lachlan failed. Trapping Morneith had always been risky, and Rory had no idea how good a conspirator James Campbell was.
But he’d used all the wrong words. And he had left hurriedly because he feared committing even more sins. But in trying to avoid more pain, he’d obviously committed the greatest hurt of all.
God’s eyes but he was a fool.
He ignored questions as he strode toward the keep and took the steps two at a time. Once in his room, he took off the plaid and washed. He changed to a clean linen shirt, trews, and a leather jerkin.
He took a deep breath, wondering how this had happened. How a mere lass could turn him inside out? How she could make him question everything he said and did?
He trod down the stairs. She was not in her chamber. He went to the one next to hers and opened it. Alina looked up at him.
“I am looking for Lady Felicia.”
“She was here earlier,” Alina said. “She is teaching me letters.”
The depth of his disappointment struck him. So did alarm. Where would she have gone?
He returned to her chamber. She had been here. A helmet was on a chair, as was the mail. The lad’s clothing was in a pile at the end of the bed.
It looked a forlorn pile.
A lump in his throat made breathing difficult. He closed his eyes as he suddenly realized how she must have felt these last days. He thought he was being noble. Instead he had been cowardly. He had taken her, and left her. He had fought her, yet not given her the respect of being honest in the contest.
The room felt of desolation.
He was the reason.
He cared—no, he more than cared—about her. And he had hurt her, just as he h
ad hurt every woman who had ever cared about him. Now he had to find her. He had to find some way of making amends.
And then what?
The curse still followed his family. His own personal devils made him a solitary, haunted man.
Leave her be.
His mind told him that. His heart had a different instruction.
He had to find her.
He went down to the stable and to the stall holding mother and foal. No sign of a young lass with short hair. The stable lad said she had not been there.
“Inform me if she does,” he said curtly.
The lad look startled, then touched his forehead. “Aye, milord.”
The kitchen!
He strode quickly to the kitchen. It was filled with newcomers. Moira looked up from huge pot several helpers were placing in the great fireplace.
“Milord?”
“Is Lady Felicia here?”
“Nay, I have no’ seen her since she helped with the midday meal.” Her brows knitted together. “She could be with Alina.”
“She probably is,” Rory said, not wishing to raise an alarm until he knew more. There was no way for her to leave Inverleith. The gates had been closed most of the day except for a small stream of men who went to guard the cattle outside.
Except …
He had left orders that every person entering or leaving be identified by another one.
He was learning exactly how devious and inventive she could be. He left the kitchen and strode to the gates. They were closed. The sentries seemed alert.
“Has anyone left here in the past hour?” he asked.
“Nay,” said one. “We have not open the gates.”
“You know my orders. No one is to leave unless he is identified by others.”
“Aye,” one said, then another.
He turned away. She had not left then. Where would she have gone?
She was not in the great hall. He started up to the stairs. Knowing something about Felicia now, he suspected she had explored the tower in the first few days. She would probably know all its many rooms.
He inspected all the rooms on her floor, coming at last to the nursery.
He hesitated outside. He had not been in it since Maggie’s death. The two of them had often visited the room and talked of their coming child. The pain was still in him, the lingering sorrow for what had been lost. But the sharp edge of agony had faded.
Beloved Impostor Page 28