by Paula Quinn
He’d put them in danger. Today was his fault.
He cursed quietly in the dimly lit room and rose to pace before the bed. Everything he believed in and fought to protect had changed in the ephemeral span of an instant. He’d been stripped of his weapons, his purpose, and left on the battlefield, bewildered and lost. How could he serve a king who would attempt such a thing? Why, James was no better than the man who’d massacred an abbey full of nuns and set Colin’s course against him three years ago. What was he to do now? Continue to fight for a man who’d allowed power to turn him into a merciless monster?
“Colin?”
He opened his eyes and leaned down closer to Edmund. “Aye, lad?”
“I had a bad dream.”
“So did I. But ’tis over now. I’m here with ye.”
“Will you stay with me and Mummy and neber go away?”
“Never.”
“Colin?”
“Aye, Edmund?”
“I love you.”
“I love ye too, lad.”
Och, hell, was this what love did to a man? Did it make his chest spasm, his heart twist and wrench into a mangled mess? He was as helpless against it as he was about thinking of the lad’s mother. He looked up at her now, standing beside him. When had she appeared? How much had she heard?
“Mummy, I had a bad dream, but it’s over now.”
She smiled at her son and leaned down to kiss his flaxen head. “Go to sleep, darling. Colin and I will be in the next room.”
She straightened and turned to Colin with gloriously large glistening eyes.
He rose to stand before her and touched his thumb to a tear about to fall from her eyelid. “Dinna’ be frightened, lass,” he said softly. “All will be well from here on in.”
She flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Colin. I’m glad you’re here with us.”
He held her for a time, not really knowing what to say in return. She had bigger enemies than Geoffrey Dearly, Earl of Devon. For some reason King James wanted her dead. He had to get her out of here, and fast.
“I heard what you told him.”
Colin felt the gratitude in her voice deep in his bones. He tightened his arms around her, breathing in the delicate scent of her, rubbing his cheek against her silky waves.
“I trust you. I…” She angled her face toward his, her nose brushing softly against his chin. “I can’t seem to…”
Bending his head to her, he pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her warm, moist lips. “Nor can I.” He wanted to kiss her for ten lifetimes. Slow, meaningful kisses that told her things he didn’t know how to say. Things he never thought he would care to utter. The thought of those men hurting her tempted him to kill in a blind rage he feared he could not control.
“Mummy, are you kissing Colin?”
They broke away and smiled at each other. Gillian’s softly flushed cheeks made him want to kiss her again and again.
“Go to sleep, my love,” she told Edmund, then took Colin’s hand. “Come, George would have words with you.”
“Wait.” Colin pulled her back. “There is something I would have ye know. I learned what Devon had done with yer letters the night I met ye in the turrets. I know what that correspondence meant to ye, and I didn’t know how to tell ye the truth. ’Twas cowardly of me.”
“No…”
“Aye,” he corrected, holding her fingers to his lips. “Better ye had learned of it in the comfort of my arms than in the presence of Devon’s unholy humor.”
She stared at him, still and silent. And in the flickering light her eyes shone with tears that finally fell. “You’re correct. I would have preferred to learn the truth in your arms. Everything I tried to do for Edmund was for nothing. I failed him.”
He pulled her in and held her close. She’d risked much and with good cause. It made him want to fight for her, kill for her—he looked toward the bed—for him. Could he denounce the king and give up his war? He felt her tears soak his shirt and held her away to look into her eyes.
“Gillian,” he whispered, stroking the back of his knuckles tenderly across her cheek. “Ye told me that I conquer monsters with a magic dagger, but ye, lass, ye fight them with a quill. Remember that when this pain passes. Remember, too, that we can’t win the war without an army at our back… or in yer case, me.”
She smiled with him and swiped her cheeks dry. Hell, her strength moved him. He would help her. He would be her champion. He was all she had left. His heart would let him do nothing else.
“I can get ye away from here, lass. And I don’t plan on letting anyone stop me.”
She ran her fingers over his lips and looked him deeply in the eyes. “I would be forever grateful, Mr. Campbell.” Taking his hand, she pulled him forward. “Come, George awaits. Let us discuss this together.”
Colin followed her out of the bed chamber, grateful for the distraction that talk of rescuing her and her son provided from what plagued his inner thoughts: the treason he felt brewing in his guts for a king who was once his friend. He’d killed for Gillian and Edmund today and he would kill many more if their enemies pursued them. But what would he do if James tried to have her killed again?
He couldn’t think on it now. There were other matters to discuss.
When Gillian sat beside Gates on the settee, her captain noted her puffy eyes and pink nose and patted her hand. She’d almost lost her child today. Gates tossed him his thousandth thankful look of the day.
“You spoke of bringing Edmund to your family in Glen Orchy.”
How much should he tell them? Would they still trust him after they learned that he was a MacGregor? A spy for the king who had ordered men to kill her? And what about Skye? ’Twas a considerable distance from Glen Orchy. What if Gillian refused to let her son be taken by savage Highlanders who hid in the misty mountains of the north?
“He would be safe. I vow it.”
“But how will you get Geoffrey to agree to let him go?” Gillian asked him.
An easier question to answer, but Colin doubted she would be pleased with his reply. “Ye must trust me fer this.”
“I do.”
He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Ye believe yer cousin was behind today’s attack because those men wanted to kill Edmund. I tell ye, Devon had nothing to do with it. True, he would have rejoiced if we had told him how close Edmund had come to…” He couldn’t finish the thought aloud. “Yer cousin wants ye, but he doesn’t want ye plotting his demise each night before bed. I have promised him everything he desires.”
“Me?”
“Aye, lass,” he told her truthfully. “Ye in his bed. Grateful to be there.”
She closed her eyes and looked a wee bit ill. “The only way he would ever find me grateful to be in his bed is if I were lying there dead.”
Colin smiled, enjoying the spark of fire in her eyes. “He wants yer undivided adoration and the only way to get it is to remove Edmund. I merely suggested a way for him to go about it without any blame on his hands. He wasted no time agreeing to it.”
“That still doesn’t guarantee that he will send the boy off with your family,” the captain pointed out.
“He will if Lady Gillian is not entirely opposed to seeing her son go.”
“He will never believe such a thing,” she told him. “I would never send Edmund off with strangers.”
“Ye’re not going to. Ye’ll be sending him off with Captain Gates fer a visit with his wife in Essex. We will deceive ye into believing that ’tis a temporary arrangement. One that is safer fer Edmund, what with the prince arriving fer war. Ye will agree, though not without the fight he will expect from ye. Ye will not suspect that he and I arranged fer my cousin in Argyll to arrive and take him. Ye will be heartbroken when ye return without yer son, but ye will not hold Devon to fault.”
“He will agree to that, Campbell, you clever bastard,” Gates finally acknowledged, then turned to Gillian. �
�He will agree. Edmund could leave here safely.”
She nodded and looked at Colin. “Why can I not go with him to your family’s home?”
Colin knew the thought of Edmund being taken from her was difficult. It had to be this way, but he wanted her to understand why.
“My kin cannot cross the whole length of England with an entire garrison at their backs without raising more than eyebrows. Their band will be small and they will travel unnoticed and leave the same way. If ye go with them, yer cousin will send both Dartmouth’s and Kingswear’s garrison, and possibly yer father’s after ye. None of ye would likely escape alive.” He let the full meaning of his words sink true… precisely, what they meant for Edmund. “ ’Tis safer this way. But I will reunite ye. Ye have my vow on that.”
He wanted to bring her home. He wanted to see her face when she looked upon Camlochlin for the first time, breathless at its splendor. When she realized that nothing could touch her or her son within the impenetrable walls of his father’s stronghold. But how would he get her there and return himself to Dartmouth before the prince landed on England’s shores? He had to return to fight. Didn’t he? No matter what King James had become, William of Orange would be worse for the people of the Highlands.
“Geoffrey will not let me leave once Edmund is gone.”
She was right, and he couldn’t take the chance of having an army follow him to Camlochlin. He would have to wait until Devon was either dead or taken prisoner before he could get her out. “He will not have a choice,” Colin promised her. He didn’t want her here a moment longer than she needed to be, but he would figure something out later. At least, with Edmund gone, she would no longer need to cower to her cousin.
“Ye both have an important role to play in this. Can ye do it?”
Gillian nodded. Gates did not.
“What will become of them in Argyll?” he asked, making certain every detail was scrutinized before he agreed to this. Damn him. “Why would the Campbells continue to protect her once William is king? Have you thought this fully through, Colin? I know you care for them as I do, and I’m grateful for it, but I cannot—”
“Captain,” Colin cut him off in a firm voice, “my kin will protect her no matter who sits on the throne.”
“They are Campbells,” Gates persisted. “Other than yourself, I don’t trust them.”
Colin regarded him for a moment. His father would like this man.
“I need something more from you,” the captain forged on. “You fight like a bloody barbarian, and an extremely effective one at that. What I saw today was not the skill of a mercenary, but of something more. Why would King James ever let such a warrior leave his service? Who taught you to fight the way you do? I want answers. I want the truth.”
Colin sat back in his chair and wished for a cup of the strongest Highland whisky he could find—so he could feed it to Gates and dull his wits. But hell, the man was doing his duty, and doing it well. Colin couldn’t fault him for that. Especially not when it came to Gillian.
His eyes fell on her, looking dreadfully anxious, awaiting his reply. He didn’t want to lie straight to her face. But he’d never told this truth to anyone. For three years he’d lived as someone else… a servant to a king he’d stopped respecting long ago. But everything had changed today. If he hadn’t traveled with them to Kingswear…
He couldn’t think of it, but was he willing to reveal his true identity and risk everything in exchange for Gillian’s and Edmund’s safety?
“My faither taught me how to fight. I am…” He paused and shifted in his seat, clinging to the deception he’d used to survive and become one of England’s most unknown spies. ’Twas difficult, letting go of one of his secrets. The most difficult thing he’d ever done. “My mother is a Campbell. My faither is not.”
The room was quiet. Colin could hear them breathing. He could almost hear the questions forming in their minds.
“Who is he then?” Gates finally asked him.
Colin looked at him and let out a gusty breath that he felt he’d been holding for centuries. “He is a MacGregor.”
The captain’s mouth fell open. Gillian studied them both with confusion marring her brow. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would you lie about being a—”
“MacGregor,” her captain interrupted, terror and concern vying for dominance over his normally composed features. “What the hell are you doing here, MacGregor?”
A question Colin feared he would be asking himself in the days to come. He couldn’t tell them the truth, that he was a general in the king’s army. ’Twas one thing to be a MacGregor mercenary, quite another to be a leader of the Catholic king’s army. Gates might be here solely to protect Gillian, but would he turn the other cheek if he knew what Colin’s true purpose was at Dartmouth? Would Gillian forgive him for deceiving her once again?
Colin wouldn’t risk discovering the answer.
“I’m a mercenary, Captain. I need the coin. Would ye have hired me if ye knew my true name?”
“I would have words with you alone.”
“And I would have my words never leave this room. My kin are still looked upon poorly and if Devon discovers that I’m not a Campbell—”
“Dear God,” the captain breathed, obviously not believing a word he’d just said.
’Twas not difficult to piece together the truth of what he was doing here when one knew that the MacGregors were Catholic. He was their enemy. His gaze slipped to Gillian, praying that she knew little about where Highlanders stood when it came to God.
“Tell me what is going on,” she demanded, proving that she didn’t know much.
Colin almost sighed out loud with relief. He didn’t want her to know the full truth of it yet. He was James’s snake, sent here the deceive them all and kill the man she’d been awaiting for three years… the man who would solve all of Protestant England’s troubles. She would never trust him again. Mayhap she would refuse to let him help her.
“Who are the MacGregors?”
Colin eyed the captain, probably more nervously than he’d ever appeared before. Hell, he’d never had this much to lose before.
“They are a notoriously savage clan of Highlanders,” the captain told her.
Colin didn’t know why the captain did it, but he passed Gates a brief, appreciative nod just the same.
“How savage?” Gillian asked, twisting the skirt in her lap into knots.
“Enough for a king to proscribe them almost to the point of extinction.”
Colin straightened his shoulders, recalling the strength of his clan to survive their history and with pride at being one of them.
“And you would trust Edmund with these people?” Gillian challenged, turning to him.
“They are not—”
“You told me,” Gates interrupted, apparently not finished with his interrogation, “that you could protect her with an army more fearsome than anything in England or Holland. There are not many MacGregors left in Glen Orchy, and those who remain are scattered from east to west. What army did you speak of?”
Colin wouldn’t kill him. After all, Gates had refrained from telling her the truth. But hell, this was what happened when one was as ill prepared as he was for confessions. They opened doors to more questions. “My kin come from farther north.”
“How far?”
Colin scowled at Gillian when she spoke, then cleared his throat. “Quite far.” Damnation, she was never going to agree to this now. But he couldn’t give up. He never had before. When he made up his mind to do something, he always got it done. And he was getting her and Edmund out of here. But first, he had to convince her that he could. “That is why I sent my kin a missive three nights ago, and why I will not move forward for at least another se’nnight. We need time.”
“How far?” Gates repeated her question.
“Skye,” he confessed, hoping at least to firmly convince the captain that no one would ever find them.
“Where is—”
>
“Are you telling me that you’re kin to the Devil MacGregor?” Gates gaped at him.
“ ’Twas a name given to him long ago,” Colin tried to reassure Gillian when she looked about to spring from her seat to protect her son against him. “No one has called my faither that in over a score years.”
“Your father?”
Hell. Colin closed his eyes when Gates sprang from his seat instead.
“The man is your father?”
“We are getting ahead of things here.” Colin held up his palms and smiled, doing his best to calm them both. “Please, let us discuss the plan.”
“What other shocking revelations do you have to share, MacGregor? What are you doing here? You will tell me the truth.”
“Campbell,” Colin corrected him with a steely-eyed stare. “Ye must remember to call me that. As fer revelations, there is only one more. I consider ye my friend—and I am not the kind of man who so considers many.”
That seemed to take the wind from Gates’s sails. For the first time that night, Colin was glad for the captain’s perceptive intelligence. He knew Colin was sincere, and he understood why.
“There are not many to be had. But I will still have words with you alone.”
“Nae, there are not,” Colin agreed and smiled at him when he sat back down. “And I will be happy to answer each of yer queries when this is all over. Fer now, I ask ye again to trust me.”
When Gates nodded, he turned to Gillian, wanting to ease her trepidation. He realized that what he meant to tell her, he hadn’t spoken to a soul in three years, when he spoke them to the king. “Captain Gates speaks true about my kin. Our history is a long and brutal one, but ’twas not always by our hands.” Telling her felt better than he’d expected, mostly because while his siblings spent hours listening to their mother’s tales of legends, he spent his time watching and learning from his father. “My faither escaped the dungeons of my great-grandsire and fled to Skye, where he built Camlochlin, deep in the mountains, enshrouded in mist. A safe haven fer any man, woman, or child who bore their name proudly. He brought war to many, but the proscription is over and we live peacefully now, with laughter and children filling the hills.”