by Paula Quinn
“Was it?” he asked quietly, sounding a bit stunned, as was, she guessed, to be expected.
“Aye. I told him that despite Geoffrey’s claims to the contrary, it was my father’s coin and influence that convinced the seven to sign the invitation. My cousin doesn’t possess the wit or the means to have seen this through. Yet he intends to take all the credit and win William’s favor when he arrives. I must stop that from happening.”
Colin was silent long enough to give her heart pause that she had told him too much. He shifted twice more in his seat and then ran his hands over his face. Finally, after dragging a deep breath into his lungs, he spoke. “Ye know the names of the seven then.”
“I know the names of six so far,” she told him. “The prince and I never discussed the men my father had chosen. There were many, but they needed only seven. I know who they are because Geoffrey enjoys taunting me with the closeness of William’s arrival after each of them signs the invitation.
“The Earl of Shrewsbury and the Viscount Lumley were the last two to pen their names. Henry Sydney, Earl of Romney, and Edward Russell were before them.”
“So two more are still needed?”
She shook her head. “Only one. The Earl of Danby signed first.”
“And the last is nae doubt yer faither.”
“No. My father is too much of a coward to rise against the king should William be defeated. That’s why he will allow Geoffrey to take the glory for everything. At least, for now.”
“Ye speak harshly of him.” Colin’s voice thickened when he finally looked at her.
“He cut me and my son from him the way a soldier would cut away the head of his most hated enemy.”
“And yer mother?”
“She allowed it,” she told him without feeling. For there was nothing left. “The only thing that would separate me from my child would be death. The prince is my only hope.”
George snored and opened his eyes briefly to smile crookedly at them both before falling back to sleep.
“We should cease this speech,” she warned in a low voice.
“Aye,” he agreed, sounding somewhat relieved. “Tell me about Edmund then.”
She blinked back a combination of stunned disbelief, gratitude, and something that made her heart ache and her eyes burn. No man had ever taken an interest in Edmund.
She began with very basic facts, his age, which stories he liked best, his favorite games. Colin smiled when she told him that Naughts and Crosses was among them. When he asked about Edmund’s father, she told him the truth. She’d been young and foolish, but she would rather have her son than live the life of a spoiled noblewoman.
“You don’t miss the courtly life then?”
She shook her. “Do I miss attending balls and feigning smiles at would-be suitors who bored me to tears? No, I don’t miss that. Besides, after years of me refusing them all, my father would likely have tried to wed me to some old, stuffy English lord.”
He smiled, ensnaring her breath with a glint in his eyes that made them shine like rare jewels. “Somehow I don’t think ye would have allowed that.”
“That is why I said tried.”
She decided that his open grin was as deadly as the subtle curl of his lips. They spoke for hours, sharing quiet smiles and even laughter until the sun began to rise beyond the narrow windows.
It was, Gillian decided later when he shook George awake with a warning that they should leave, the most wonderful night of her life.
The only thing that would have made it more perfect was if he’d kissed her.
Chapter Eighteen
Colin narrowly avoided a blow to his middle and ducked as a second swipe nearly took off his head. He held up his hand to stop Gates’s advance. Hell, he knew he shouldn’t practice this morn with Lady Gillian haunting his every thought. William of Orange was her only hope. When she told him of her plans—the actions she had already taken to undermine her cousin and save herself and her son—he hadn’t known what to say. She was secretly sending letters to the Dutch prince! Hell, he still couldn’t take it in. She was a spy for William, and a damned decent one if Gates truly knew nothing of the correspondence. She’d committed treason against King James. What would he do about it? Nothing. He understood why she did it. What had William promised her? How would the prince save her from her cousin? Would he keep his word? Colin doubted it, and even if William had vowed to take her away from Dartmouth, Colin couldn’t let him rise to power.
“You’re distracted,” his opponent said, sheathing his blade.
Aye, he was. Despite everything his mind told him about staying detached from her, Colin knew he was losing that battle. For he could scarcely wait to set eyes on her again. It wasn’t because she possessed the information he needed about his enemies, though, by God, he’d never expected to find what he looked for in her! What else did she know? When was William planning to arrive? He could have asked her last eve, but with all her talk of needing the prince, he couldn’t bring himself to question her further. Nae, he simply wanted to hear her voice, look at her, see her smile again. She possessed no airs, but was refreshingly open and genuine. She wanted nothing more out of life than to be happy and to see her son the same. Her beauty called to him, but her character, touched with kindness, boldness, and integrity, tempted him beyond his endurance to resist.
He’d given up trying to forget the way the firelight in her chambers had glimmered off her unbound, abundant waves or the way her eyes danced when she spoke of Edmund.
He hadn’t genuinely laughed with anyone since leaving Camlochlin last month. Three years before that. Hell, it had felt good to let down his guard a wee bit—to remember who he was. A man. A MacGregor, passionate about his land, his kin, and his woman. But Gillian Dearly wasn’t his woman and his desire for her startled him. It made him feel vulnerable, like a ship sailing aimlessly without an anchor. Last night, it had taken every shred of control he possessed to keep from dragging her to the turrets and kissing her until dawn and then promising her whatever she desired.
“You should have left her chamber last night when I fell asleep.”
Colin put away his sword and expelled a weary sigh. He’d wanted to leave, but his mind, his mouth, and his feet had turned traitor on him. “Ye brought me to her. ’Tis foolish to be angry with me about it now.”
“Is it? I see the way you look at her—or try not to,” her captain continued. “The way you go soft when you look at Edmund. I warn you, no good can come of it. You may be skilled with a sword, despite your flimsy excuse to the contrary, but you will not be able to keep her safe from Devon if you’re thinking of helping her leave Dartmouth.”
“I’m not. I simply—”
“Because he would find her wherever she fled. And do you know what he would do to her? To Edmund?”
Nae, Devon wouldn’t find her at Camlochlin.
It’s a hard truth to conceal when a man loses the last of his mind in a single instant and doesn’t know where to begin to find it and gain it back. Colin blinked and looked away, lest Gates’s ever-sharp eyes see the evidence of it.
He couldn’t take her to Camlochlin. There wasn’t enough time to bring her there and return to battle. What would she do there with his kin? She would hate the cold weather and the isolation. She didn’t know he was a MacGregor and once she did, ’twas very likely that she would never want to speak to him again.
But suddenly he couldn’t stop himself from imagining Edmund running freely in the vast green vale of Camlochlin with children his own age and Gillian laughing at his kin’s table, smiling up at him in his bed.
What had become of him? He’d always known his own mind. There was no room for a woman in it—certainly no room for a wife. He was mad for even contemplating the suddenly clear path in his head.
“I would have yer thoughts on something, Captain.”
“What is it?”
“Ye’re not going to like it.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t
put it to me.”
Mayhap he shouldn’t. Mayhap he should ask the captain to beat him in the head with one of the heavy wooden wasters leaning uselessly against the outer wall.
“I would ask that ye trust me,” he forged onward. He would need the captain’s assistance in what he meant to do, and since Gates was unaware that William of Orange had already promised to aid his charge, the task would be less difficult if Colin went about it correctly.
“You ask me to trust you,” said the captain, “but it’s difficult to do so when you evade answering my queries. I’ve been patient because I don’t find you as unfavorable as the rest here, and you’re clever. But you are playing a part within these walls, at our table, Campbell, are you not?”
Colin wished for a chair to sit in. ’Twas impossible that Gates had figured him out so quickly. What did he suspect? Surely he was incorrect in his assumptions. Better to find out now though… “A part?” he asked calmly, looking Gates square in the eye.
“You don’t like Devon, or the men.” He held up his hand when Colin would speak. “Don’t take me for a fool and deny it. You aim your practiced smiles at them, but anyone watching you closely enough can see the difference when you speak to Edmund… and his mother. You wear your mask well, Campbell, for I cannot decide which smile you aim at me.”
Colin hated to admit it, but he liked Gates. Enough to not want to kill him with the rest, at least. Nae, ’twas more than that. “I hold ye in high regard, Captain.”
“That is well received. But it doesn’t answer the question of what you are up to.”
And Colin wasn’t about to tell him. Not the entire truth of it anyway. “I will tell ye, but as I stated, ye are not going to care fer what I say.”
“I’m listening.”
“We cannot let her wed Devon.”
“We?”
“Ye cannot tell me that ye would sit idly by when that bastard takes her to his marriage bed.”
Gates leaned his shoulder against the wall and tossed him a foul look. “But there is no way to stop it. If the prince agrees to—”
“There is a way to stop it,” Colin interjected. “But I need yer aid, and yer full trust.”
“Go on.”
“Would ye do anything to see Lady Gillian and her son safely away from Dartmouth?”
The captain laughed and pushed off the wall. When he reached Colin, his mirth faded into a cold snarl. “I knew you would want to help her. I told you the dangers of trying. Must I set you to a sickbed for the next few months to stop you?”
“Ye could try,” Colin warned quietly. “But in the meantime, I will do what needs to be done, with or without yer aid. But I would rather have ye on my side. The moment Devon is wed to her he will put Edmund out.” Hell, ’twas true. Mad or not, he had to do something.
“It’s too dangerous. I will not aid you.”
“Nor will ye stop me.”
Gates glared at him with such murderous intent that for a moment Colin believed he might try to kill him.
“With yer aid, I can do this without danger to either of them.”
Gates looked mildly ill. “The three of you will be shot down before you leave England.”
“Not if two of us still remain. We must get Edmund away first.”
“Do you understand that she will never allow you to separate her from the boy?”
“She will if she trusts me. And with yer aid, she will.”
Gates went back to leaning against the wall. “I will think about it.”
At least he didn’t draw his blade. Colin nodded. ’Twas a start.
Later that night, Colin sat quietly in the Great Hall, barely aware of the men around him quarreling about what Captain Gates had done to his lieutenant.
He’d had time to think more clearly about his earlier decisions regarding Lady Gillian. He couldn’t help her and he couldn’t let William remain in England long enough to do so. His path was set before him and he couldn’t take any detours. Not now. He’d waited too long for this. Hell, his entire life had been spent in preparation for the coming, glorious battle. The fate of the throne, of the three kingdoms, rested in his hands. He had to discover what else she knew about the rebellion. Do what he’d come here to do, and then get the hell out of Dartmouth.
The sight of her entering the Hall with Gates a moment later made him doubt the importance of his cause. How was it that each new time he saw her, she grew more bonny than before? His eyes took in every nuance of her: the light footfalls that brought her closer… the swell of her hips beneath her gown of pale coral… her slender waist and full, round breasts… His fingers curled into his palms with the need to caress her, kiss her, claim her. Even if he could get her out of Dartmouth before all hell broke loose, what would he do with her after that?
Letting her distract him was dangerous, but wanting her was deadly.
He looked away, fighting with everything he had left to resist her. ’Twas foolish and reckless to enter her rooms and share laughter and speech with her, no matter what she knew. He knew she was trouble with those wide, sea-foam blue eyes and pale pink complexion. His gaze found her again and basked in the long, flaxen braid draping her shoulder, the wee tendrils falling loose about her temples. Hell, he knew she was trouble, but he didn’t care… and he couldn’t look away.
Until she tipped her gaze from the floor and looked back at him.
Steadying his breath, he turned his most practiced smile on Gerald Hampton as the giant took the seat closest to him. “Apologies, I didn’t hear what ye said.”
The giant slammed his even bigger fist on the table, summoning one of the male servers. “I said, the bishop of London arrives at Kingswear within the next fortnight.” Hampton turned a dark, bloodshot eye on him while his drink was delivered. “You asked about visitors.”
Colin blinked. “The bishop?” Hell, it didn’t bode well for the king if the bishop of bloody London was inviting the Dutch prince to steal the throne. James was losing his allies and without the church behind him he would likely lose the war. Colin scowled as an even darker thought occurred to him. Lefevre had told him the invitation had been sent to the seven. Why was the bishop coming here? Did his arrival have something to do with her?
His eyes found her yet again as she took her seat opposite Gates. She didn’t look up but kept her hands folded in her lap. A swan on a lake of murk and mire. Had Devon decided not to wait for William of Orange’s arrival to take her as his wife?
“She is not my burden.”
“What’s that, whelp?” Hampton finished the contents of his cup and swiped his knuckles across his dark beard.
“ ’Tis a burden,” Colin corrected effortlessly, but cursed himself inwardly. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken. When the hell had that ever happened to him?
“What is?”
“Having to wait on these signatures before the true king can arrive.”
Hampton laughed. “Thirsty for Catholic blood, eh, stray?”
“I came to fight. Not to practice.”
Hampton slapped him on the back, then held up his cup for a refill. He eyed Gates, then slumped closer to Colin. “What think you of what he did to de Atre?”
“He did his duty,” Colin told him. “As he swore to each of us he would do.”
“He nearly cut the lip from his face. De Atre will be scarred for life from the viciousness of his attack. Gates chose a woman over one of his own men.”
“A man who tried to stab him in the back.”
Hampton’s grin was anything but amiable as he settled it on Colin. “Fortunate for the captain that you were there to stop it.”
“ ’Twas fortunate indeed,” Colin agreed. “If de Atre had killed him, then as lieutenant, he becomes the man who leads us into battle against our enemies.” He stared at Hampton, letting his words seep in. De Atre would keep them alive for a day at the most, and Hampton knew it.
The giant shrugged his massive shoulders and went back to drinking and laughing with the o
thers. Colin caught Gates’s eye at the front of the table and passed him a subtle nod. The captain returned the silent greeting and then turned to watch Devon saunter into the Hall.
With the earl’s arrival, the servers waiting along the wall snapped to attention and hurried toward the kitchen.
“What do we have here?” Devon adjusted his wig and pushed Margaret away from his side as he came to stand over Gillian. “My cousin has deigned to sit with us tonight. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
When she didn’t answer him, he fell into his seat and smiled at the rest of the men. “She must have missed us. Let us not forget that a whore’s place is among men.”
Colin sat as still as stone, his fingers itching to rip a dagger from his boot and fling it at Devon’s throat. He looked at Gates, infuriated that Gillian’s captain said nothing in her defense yet again. He would ask him why later, and to hell what Gates thought of him. He’d begun to respect the man who’d managed, for more than three years now, to keep a pack of wolves from tearing his charge to pieces. But hell, how could he sit there night after night listening to the vile way her cousin spoke to her?
The answer came with his next breath—when Captain Gates rose to his feet and looked down at Devon. His warning was so quietly given, it did not reach Colin’s ears. But a warning ’twas by the flash of fear in the haughty earl’s eyes.
Unfortunately, the fear did not last long.
Rising from his seat, Devon set his glacial gaze on Gates and ordered in a loud voice, “I want the boy brought to me now. It’s time he learned of the circumstances of his birth.”
Lady Gillian sprang from her chair to protest. “He is abed and I will not have him disturbed.”
Her cousin turned to her slowly, his pitch quiet at first but ending in a roar. “He will not be abed in this castle tomorrow night if he isn’t brought to me at once!”
Here it was, her war. Looking up from his seat at the captain’s defeated expression, Colin realized that she fought it alone. Gates defended her honor, an admirable trait for any man, but he defended it with caution, always careful not to risk Devon’s full anger. He protected Edmund passively but ’twas she who fought constantly to keep her child safe.