by Nora Roberts
“Maybe the Dark Angel has no one to sew for him.” A little lass eyed him solemnly. “Did you lose your mother, too?”
“Too?”
“I lost my mother when Laird Rothwick’s soldiers burned our cottage and took her away,” the girl said softly.
“My mother refused to leave me, so they ran her through with their swords,” said another. “The same happened to little Meara, and now she refuses to speak.”
As the other children began chiming in with their own sad tales, the man stared around the table.
When the truth dawned, he turned to Alana. “These are not yours?”
“You thought . . . ?” She bit back a smile. “You thought these children were all mine?”
Seeing the humor in it, everyone around the table began to grin and then to laugh aloud. Once they started, they couldn’t seem to stop.
Alana joined in. Then, as the others continued laughing, she sat back, watching and listening, feeling a welling of such joy in her heart.
Oh, it was so good to hear the sound of laughter once more. She had thought she might never again hear anything so wondrous as this in her father’s house.
Chapter 3
THE easy laughter had an amazing effect on everyone in the room. With tensions eased, they bent to their meal, suddenly ravenous.
Alana was careful not to be caught staring at the stranger. But she was aware of the fact that he ate slowly, as though savoring each bite. Could it be that he’d never tasted fowl cooked in such a manner? Though he claimed to be a Highlander, she wondered if his clan was so primitive that they ate their food raw like the barbarians.
It was rumored that the barbarians who regularly invaded their land from across the sea actually ate the flesh of their victims and drank their blood. Though no one had ever seen such a chilling deed, the rumor refused to die.
Alana cared not for rumors, but she couldn’t dismiss all the things she’d heard about the Dark Angel. And so, while the others ate, she watched this stranger in their midst, trying very hard not to be seen watching him.
Observing the others dip chunks of bread in the broth made from the juices, he did the same. When he lifted the goblet of ale to his lips he drank very little, as though unsure of what to expect. He seemed as watchful, as calculating, here at the table as he’d been in the forest, when first they’d met.
The easy laughter brought about another change. With their hunger sated and their fear for Meara put to rest, the lads began vying with one another to share their stories of life before the reign of the cruel Rothwick.
“Do you remember, Ingram, when we used to toss each other into the loch?” Jeremy’s eyes warmed with laughter. “For no other reason than that the day was sunny, or there was time for such foolishness before returning from the fields?”
“Aye. Praise heaven we’d learned how to swim, or by now we wouldn’t be here to speak of it. I remember best, after a day of tending the flocks, we’d leap across the boulders that lined the mountain streams, hoping we’d get to the other side without slipping.” Ingram added with a smile, “You knew you’d get a scolding if you came home dripping on your mother’s clean floor.”
“I did my share of scolding.” A young woman with pale hair tied back with a ribbon looked wistful. “Whenever my lads would come home from the village with too many sweets and not enough flour from the miller. I’d scold them roundly. Of course,” she added with a sigh, “they knew they’d do the same the next time I sent them to the village. And I knew it, too. ’Twas a game we played, though we never spoke of it at the time.”
Across the table the women smiled and nodded. Encouraged by her words, they began to speak haltingly of their lives as wives and mothers, helping with chores in the fields, glorying in the freedom to visit with friends and neighbors on market day.
“Oh, the fine laces I could find there,” said one, glancing down at the rags that she now was forced to wear.
“And the pastries,” said another, touching a hand to her plump middle. “I recall Elizabeth MacNair’s shortbread melting in my mouth. I could hardly wait for market day, so I could sample more of her fine pastries.” The woman lowered her voice. “She wouldn’t share the secret to her recipe. And though we all ate her shortbread and tried to figure out why it was better than our own, none of us could ever match the taste or texture.”
“I had a friend in the village who could sew the finest stitches.” A dark-haired young woman smiled wistfully, while twisting a length of faded apron around and around her finger. “She tried to show me how, but I could never come close to her skill with needle and thread.”
Alana was stunned at the way they’d begun opening up, since they’d been reluctant until now to speak of anything that reminded them of the past. She’d had to pry every tale of woe from them, and though in time she’d learned bits and pieces of their lives, they had never before spoken with such honesty.
Caught up in the moment, even Brin joined in as she circled the table, filling goblets with strong, hot tea. She placed a scone, drizzled with honey, in front of their guest. “I’ve but one left, and since you saved our sweet Meara, you must eat it.”
Instead of doing as she asked, he merely stared at it with a look that, to Alana, seemed heartbreaking.
Brin took no notice. “You children are too young to remember, but the rest of us can still recall those lovely days, when Laird MacLish was laird of lairds.”
At the mention of that name, Alana saw the stranger go very still. His food forgotten, he stared at the tabletop, his face expressionless.
“The laird had wisely ended the warfare between neighboring clans.”
“Did he have a grand army?” Dudley asked.
“Nay. It was accomplished, not with an army, but instead with acts of kindness that united all in the Highlands. With the clans united, we were able to stand together against our common enemy, the barbarians, who used to attack from the sea. When they realized the force of our united clans, their attacks began to taper off until, for the first time in recent memory, we were at peace.”
“What is it like to be without war?” Ingram asked with a sigh.
“Oh, lad.” Brin’s eyes lit with the knowledge. “With peace came life filled to overflowing with goodness. Without a constant call to arms, our men could tend to their fields and flocks. Our fields yielded richer crops than any, even the oldest among us, had ever seen. Our flocks grew fat.” She touched a hand to her middle. “As did our bellies.”
The women were smiling and nodding, while the children struggled to imagine such a thing.
Brin’s voice lowered with feeling. “We thought, and rightly so, that we were living in paradise. There was such a sense of pride. Of love, not only among friends and neighbors, but among bordering clans.”
One of the women got so caught up in the litany of pleasure, she actually clapped her hands like a child. “Oh, I recall skipping to market day with my children, feeling as though a simple visit to the village square was some grand adventure.”
Eyes brightened. Heads nodded. Smiles widened.
Old Brin set the kettle over the fire and turned. “When word reached us that Laird MacLish and his wife and brave sons had all been murdered by Reginald Rothwick’s army, and their fortress burned to the ground, our Highlands were swept by a wave of grief unlike any I’ve ever known. It was as though we’d suffered the loss of our own. And we had, for we loved them as we loved ourselves. There wasn’t a man or woman in this land that wouldn’t have gladly given our lives in exchange for theirs.”
Alana saw the stranger blanch. He sank back for a moment, before lurching to his feet.
Alarmed, Alana pushed away from the table and hurried to his side. “Are you unwell?”
“Aye.” He glanced at the others, who were staring in silence. “I do thank you for your kindness. I must go.”
Alana clasped her hands together. “I know I speak for my father, who lies on his pallet above stairs. You are welcome to shar
e our home and hearth.”
He backed away. Before he could reach the door little Meara launched herself at him and clung to his hand.
He looked down at her, then glanced helplessly at Alana.
She explained as gently as possible. “Meara hasn’t spoken since coming here. But as you can see, she is still able to express her feelings. It’s quite obvious that she doesn’t want you to go. I sense that she feels safe with you. We all do.”
“Safe?” He paused. “You spoke of a father. Can he not keep you safe?”
“My father, Laird Malcolm Lamont, has grown frail. He rarely leaves his bed.”
“Lamont.” He seemed to be searching his memory. “He was a good friend to the MacLish clan.”
“Aye.” She dimpled. “He spoke fondly of his affection for all of them.” Her smile faded. “His heart was broken by their cruel deaths. Shortly after that we lost my mother, and my father took to his pallet.”
“As I recall, the clan Lamont had many strong warriors. What has happened to them?”
“Father told those who were strong enough to flee, to do so before they could be forced to fight for Rothwick or forfeit their lives. Many journeyed to the Lowlands. The few who remained on their ancestral land are, like my father, too old or infirm to make the journey and are hoping to live out their days in the Highlands before Rothwick and his army discover their presence.”
He looked around the fine big room, the food on the table, the fire blazing on the hearth. “Who sees to this place?”
“We do.” Alana indicated the women and children. “There are many willing hands working together.”
“The food? The animals?”
“We’ve lost our flocks to nighttime raids, though whether by Rothwick’s warriors, or men fleeing the advancing army, we know not. We are now forced to hunt food in the meadows and fish in the streams.” She lowered her voice. “And, as you know, we search out firewood in the forest.”
He was looking at her strangely. “You know that Rothwick’s army is advancing. What will you do when the last village falls, and nothing stands between them and these walls?”
“Let them come.” Ingram pushed away from the table and stood as tall as his ten years would permit. “We’ll fight them, won’t we, lads?”
“Aye. We practice daily with sticks and dirks.” Jeremy joined his friend, slapping him on the back, and the two smiled at young Dudley, who noisily drained his tea before crossing to stand with them.
They lifted faces still sprinkled with freckles, exuding a courage born of innocence.
Something dark and dangerous flickered in the stranger’s eyes. “Are you telling me that all that stands between the people living in this fortress and Rothwick’s army are you three fine, brave warriors?”
Dudley’s lips curled into a childish sneer, revealing a gap where he was missing his front teeth. “Would you rather we hide like cowards?”
The lad’s words had the man recoiling, as though he’d been assaulted. He stared at the three in thoughtful silence before turning and pulling open the door.
As he stepped into the darkness, Alana lay a hand on his sleeve. Just a touch, but it had him going very still.
She could feel the coiled tension inside him. “Again, I thank you for saving little Meara. Please know that you are always welcome in my father’s home.”
He turned, and once again she was rocked by the way his eyes locked on hers. Though her cheeks grew hot, she could no more tear her gaze from his than stop her heart from beating wildly in her chest like a caged bird.
His voice was little more than a whisper. “Keep all who dwell within these walls close. Rothwick’s army advances each day.”
“He would not come near if he learned that the one he most fears lays in wait for him.”
He understood what she was saying. It should have warmed him to think that she put such faith in his power. Instead, it had the opposite effect. His voice lowered with passion. “One man cannot be everywhere.”
“And we cannot remain locked within the keep without food or firewood.” She closed her eyes against the fear that was never far from her thoughts. “I have many depending on me. Would you ask me to let them starve? To let them freeze?”
“Would you risk their lives for food? For warmth?”
“I know not.” She sighed. “I know only that I will fight with my last breath to keep them safe from all harm. Not only from the harm threatened by Rothwick’s warriors, but from the ravages of life as well.”
The stranger seemed about to say something more, then gave a shake of his head and turned away abruptly.
Alana remained in the doorway, watching until he disappeared through the gate in the wall and could be seen striding toward the forest.
When she closed the door and turned, those seated at the table had gone silent, lips trembling, eyes downcast.
Even the lads, for all their boastful eloquence, had lost their bravado.
The laughter and gaiety they’d enjoyed earlier was gone, swept away by the troubling knowledge that their safety was little more than an illusion. And the one most feared by Rothwick’s army was merely a man after all and not a vengeful spirit.
ROYCE returned to the forest and checked the hollows of trees to be certain his cache of weapons remained undisturbed. While he ascended trees with an ease born of years of practice, and swung from branch to branch with all the grace of a bird, his mind worked frantically.
Alana Lamont’s face was seared into his memory. Thoughts of her wouldn’t let him go. The plight of the woman, and all those who lived in her father’s keep, tugged at him. Still, what could he do? As he’d made perfectly clear to her, he couldn’t be everywhere. This place was where he could do the most good for the people. By hiding out here in the forest, and striking one warrior at a time, he’d injected an element of fear into the murdering Rothwick’s heart. Without that fear, he had no doubt that Rothwick would have long ago made good on his plan to imprison all Highlanders and declare himself laird of lairds.
Once Rothwick gained complete power, all would be lost.
When Royce’s life had hung on, day after pain-filled day, he’d made a promise to himself. If he should live, he would spend the rest of his days seeking, not vengeance, but justice. It was the least he could do for all those who had paid with their lives.
Had it not been for the compassionate care of a family that had come upon him while fleeing the carnage, his fate would have been the same as his brother’s. The very thought of Fitzroy’s courage in the face of death remained with Royce to this day.
Because he hadn’t expected to recover, each day was a gift. And though he still bore the scars, and with them the lingering pain, he refused to allow himself to dwell on the hell through which he’d passed. He had learned that a man could rise above even the most hideous torture and not only survive, but also come back stronger than ever.
He lived for one goal. The overthrow of Rothwick’s reign of evil. He wanted nothing—no obstacle, no temptation—to deter him from his course.
But what was he to do about the woman?
He’d saved many women and children from the horrors of Rothwick’s warriors. But for every one he saved, many more had been forced to suffer the most brutal and degrading treatment imaginable at the hands of Rothwick and his band of villains. Royce had seen their battered remains when the warriors were finished with them. He couldn’t bear the thought of Alana Lamont suffering that same fate.
Alana Lamont.
Her name suited her. Lovely and lyrical. And from what he’d seen of her with the others entrusted to her care, as beautiful inside as out. Without concern for her own safety, she had opened her father’s home to any and all in need.
How could he do less?
He knew what he had to do. Had known, since first he’d seen her and had become so transfixed by her beauty, he’d been almost overcome with the need to touch her. Now there was another need. The need to keep her safe, no matter what t
he cost.
Tucking a spare dirk into his boot, he swung down from the tree and, moving with all the silence of a shadow, started across the open space that separated the Lamont fortress from the forest that had been his home and haven for six long years.
He would conceal himself just inside the wall of her fortress, so that any who attempted to enter would have to deal with him.
Chapter 4
“ALANA.”
At the sound of her father’s voice calling from the chambers just beyond hers, Alana was awake instantly.
She hurried to his room to kneel beside his pallet. “I’m here, Father. What do you need?”
“Water.” He coughed several times before adding, “to quench the fire in my throat.”
She poured water from a pitcher and held the goblet to his lips. When he’d had his fill, she touched a hand to his forehead and was relieved to find no fever. His frail health worried her, though she thought it was due more to the loss of his wife and the loss of freedom for his beloved Highlanders, than anything physical. He had, she believed, simply lost the will to live.
He mounded a fur throw and set it behind his head. “Brin said we had a visitor to the fortress.”
Alana nodded. “I would have told you about him, but you were asleep when I came above stairs.”
“I’m awake now.” He patted the side of the bed. “Sit with me awhile, and tell me more about this Dark Angel.”
“There’s little enough to tell.” She settled herself beside him and caught his hand between both of hers. “He appears to be uncomfortable in the company of people. And though he claims to be a Highlander, he seems unaware of our food or customs.”
“Did he tell you of his clan?”
She shook her head. “He offered nothing about himself, except to say that his clan is no more.”
“No more? Have they all been wiped out, then?”
She shrugged. “He did not say. But there can be no doubt about his determination to put an end to the reign of terror by Reginald Rothwick and his warriors.”