by Nora Roberts
Gradually, at his insistence, the gaps were filled in. He listened grimly, his fury and disgust at Cumberland’s atrocities offset only by the joy of having Serena and his unborn child close to him.
“This place won’t be safe for long.” Brigham sat braced against the wall of the cave, his face still pale in the dim light. It had been two days since he had come out of that fever. “We need to move as soon as possible, toward the coast.”
“You’re not strong enough.” Serena kept his hand in hers. A part of her wanted to stay snug in the cave and forget there was a world outside.
In answer, he brought their joined hands to his lips. But his eyes were hard and focused. He would be damned if he would see her forced to give birth in a cave. “I think we could seek help from my kin on Skye.” He looked at Gwen. “How soon will Maggie and the baby be fit enough to travel?”
“In a day or two, but you—”
“I’ll be ready.”
“You’ll be ready when we say you are,” Serena cut in.
A trace of the old arrogance flickered into his eyes. “You’ve grown tyrannical since I last saw you, madam.”
She smiled and touched her lips to his. “I have always been a tyrant, Sassenach. Rest now,” she urged as she settled a blanket over him. “When your strength returns we shall go anywhere you choose.”
His eyes became very intense, and her smile wavered. “I may hold you to that, Rena.”
“Just rest.” The weariness in his voice made her ache. He had left her a strong, seemingly invincible man. He had come back to her inches from death. She would not risk losing him to his own stubbornness. “Perhaps Coll and Malcolm will bring back meat.” She lay beside him, stroking his brow as he drifted off, and wondering why her brothers tarried so long.
* * *
They had seen the smoke from the ridge. Sprawled on their bellies, Coll and Malcolm looked down at Glenroe. The English had come again, bringing their fire and their hate. Already the crofts lay in ruins, their thatched roofs gone. MacGregor House was alight, and flames flickered out of broken windows.
“Damn them,” Coll murmured over and over as he pounded a fist against the rock. “Damn them all.”
“Why do they burn our houses?” Malcolm was ashamed of the tears and hastened to wipe them away. “What need is there to destroy our homes? The stables,” he said suddenly, and would have risen up if Coll hadn’t restrained him.
“They would have taken the horses, lad.”
Malcolm pressed his face to the rock, caught between childish tears and a man’s fury. “Will they go now, and leave us?”
Coll remembered the carnage surrounding the battlefield. “I think they will hunt the hills. We must get back to the cave.”
* * *
Serena lay quietly, listening to the comforting domestic sounds. Young Ian was suckling again, and Maggie hummed to him. Mrs. Drummond and Parkins murmured over the preparation of a meal, easily, as if they were still gossiping in the kitchen. Near Maggie, Fiona worked with a spindle, peacefully spinning what would one day be made into a blanket for her grandchild. Gwen fussed with her jars and pots of medicine.
They were all together at last, together and safe. One day, when the English grew tired of raping Scotland and returned over the border, they would go back down to Glenroe. She would make Brigham happy there somehow, make him forget the glittering life he had led in London. They would build a house of their own near the loch.
Smiling, Serena shifted away to let Brigham sleep. She had a passing thought to look out and see if she could spot her brothers returning, but even as she stood, she heard the sound of someone moving near the mouth of the cave. Words of greeting were on the tip of her tongue, but then she stopped. Neither Coll nor Malcolm would have a need to come so cautiously. With a hand that had gone suddenly cold, she reached for the pistol.
A shadow blocked out the light at the mouth of the cave. Then she saw with a sickening lurch of her heart the glint of metal and the telling red of the coat.
The soldier straightened, his sword raised, as he took quick stock of his find. Serena noted that his coat and his face were streaked with dirt and soot. There was a look of triumph in his eyes, and an unmistakable glint in them when he spotted Gwen.
Without a word, and with no thought of mercy, he advanced on Parkins. Serena lifted the pistol and fired. He stumbled back, blank surprise showing in his face the instant before he crumpled to the ground. Thinking only of defending what was hers, Serena gripped the hilt of her grandfather’s claymore. Another soldier broke in. Even as she raised the sword, she felt a hand close over hers. Brigham was beside her. The soldier, teeth bared, charged forward, leading with his bayonet. Another shot rang out, felling him. Parkins stood, his rail-thin body shielding Mrs. Drummond’s, the pistol still smoking in his hand.
“Reload,” Brigham ordered, thrusting Serena behind him as another dragoon pushed into the cave. The redcoat didn’t advance, only stood stiffly for an instant before falling headfirst. There was an arrow quivering in his back.
Breathing through his teeth, Brigham rushed out of the cave. There were two more. Coll was fighting one, sword to sword, as he maneuvered desperately to shield Malcolm with his body. The other dragoon advanced on the young boy, who held an empty bow as a useless defense.
With a shout, Brigham lunged. The pain exploded afresh in his side, almost blinding him. The dragoon swung around, but raised his sword again over Malcolm’s head.
Serena fired the freshly loaded pistol from the mouth of the cave and sent a ball into his heart.
It was over in minutes. Five dragoons lay dead, but the sanctuary of the cave was ended.
* * *
They moved at dusk, heading west. Two of the horses the dragoons had tethered were Malcolm’s own. They took shifts, riding, walking. When it was possible, they sheltered in mud huts or with the cattle. Highland hospitality was as it had always been. Through the people they met they learned of Cumberland, who was already known as the Butcher. The persecution was unbearable, and the search for the Prince through the heather unrelenting.
Houses were in ruin; cattle and horses and sheep had been driven off. The Highlanders, never rich, faced starvation. Still, they hid their Prince and any fugitive who asked for shelter.
Progress was slow, with each day bringing its own dangers. Thousands of troops had been engaged to find the Prince. It was June before they were able to sail from the mainland to Skye, where they were taken in by the MacDonalds of Sleat.
“It’s as beautiful as she said it was,” Brigham murmured as he stood with Serena on the lush green grass of a small slope and looked out at Uig Bay. “My grandmother told me how she ran through the grass as a girl and watched the boats.”
“It is beautiful.” The breeze was kind against her face. “Everything is beautiful now that we’re all together and safe.”
For how long? Brigham wondered. There were troops here, as well. The sea was being patrolled. There were rumors that the Prince was near. If he was, the English would be on his heels. A way had to be devised for the Prince to return to France or Italy. But more personally, and more importantly, Serena and the child had to be kept safe.
He had thought of little else during the days of his recovery, during the nights they had traveled like outcasts through the hills of Scotland. He could not now return to England and give Serena what was rightfully hers as Lady Ashburn. Nor could he, though she had yet to accept it, return to Glenroe for years to come.
“Sit with me, Serena.”
“Gladly.” She laughed a little as he helped her settle what had become a cumbersome weight. “I shall never be able to face a cow again.”
“You’ve never looked more beautiful.”
“You lie.” She grinned and turned her face for a kiss. “But the truth wouldn’t earn you a kiss.” With her head on his shoulder, she looked out at the bay. The sun scattered over it, edging the blue with gold, like a lady’s ball gown. “It is beautiful h
ere, Brig. I’m glad you had the chance to see the land where your grandmother grew up. That we had the chance to see it together.” With a little sound of discomfort, she rested a hand on her stomach.
“Do you feel unwell?”
“No, better every day since we’ve come here.” It was true, spiritually. She didn’t want to tell him how poorly she had begun to feel physically. Only that morning the ache in her back, and the pressure, had nearly kept her in bed. “Your grandmother’s people have been so kind to us.”
“I know. I shall always be grateful to them, and all the others who gave us shelter.” His eyes clouded as he looked down over the water. “It is difficult to understand how they could give shelter so freely to an Englishman.”
“How can you speak so?” There was genuine anger in her voice as she gripped his arm. “It was not your England that has murdered Scotland. It was, is, Cumberland and his thirst for blood, his need to destroy. It is he who has laid waste to the glens.”
“And in London he is cheered like a hero.”
“Listen to me.” Her grip gentled as she reached for his hand. “There was a time I blamed all for the wrongs of a few. As you love me, don’t do the same.” With a smile, she moved his hand over her belly. “Our child carries English blood. I am proud of it.”
He brought her close a moment, just to hold her. “Again you humble me.” They remained as they were, sitting close, clinging to the hope that had come even out of loss. “You know, if I am found here, what will happen to the MacDonalds?”
It was cowardly, but she didn’t want to think of it. “You will not be found.”
“I cannot run forever, Rena, nor continue to endanger friend and stranger.”
She plucked nervously at the turf. It was so green and smelled so sweet. “I know, but what choice do we have? The Prince is still hunted. I know you worry for him.”
“I do, but I also worry for you and your child.” When she started to reassure him, he gripped her hands. “I will never forget that last day in the cave, the way you were forced to defend me, to kill for me and your family.”
“I did what needed to be done, what you would have done. All those months I felt useless because I could do nothing. That day, things changed. A woman might not join the rebellion on a battlefield, but a woman can protect what she loves.”
“I will tell you in truth that I have never loved you more than I did that day, when you held a sword and a pistol in your hands.” He kissed them, then looked steadily into her eyes. “Can you understand that I wanted to give you beauty, not a life of fear and running? I wanted to give you what was mine, but is mine no longer.”
“Brigham—”
“No, wait. There is something I must ask you. You said you would go with me wherever I chose. Will you?”
She felt a little pain ripple through her, but nodded. “Aye.”
“Will you leave Scotland, Rena, and travel with me to the New World? I cannot give you all that I once promised, though we won’t be poor. So many of the things I wanted for you will be left behind. You will be only Mrs. Langston, and the land and the people will be strange to you, to both of us. I know what I ask you to give up, but perhaps one day we can return.”
“Ssh.” Overcome, she wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t you know I would ride into hell with you if you asked?”
“I don’t ask you to ride into hell, but I know what I ask you and what promises I break.”
“You promised only to love me, and to come back to me. You have done both.” She shook her head before he could speak. “You must listen, and try to understand. The weeks I had with you at court were beautiful, but only because we were together. I have never needed such things, Brigham. The title means nothing to me, nor do the balls or the gowns. Only you.” With a watery laugh, she pulled back. “Every day at Holyrood I worried that I would make a mistake and embarrass you, that you would see you had made a grave error in judgment in taking me for Lady Ashburn.”
“What nonsense is this?”
“I shall never be an easy aristocrat, Brigham. I was afraid you would ask me to go to France, to court.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Your life would be easier there, as it was in Edinburgh.”
“And I would have to pretend to be a lady while I longed for my breeches and a fast ride.”
“You would rather go to America with only a chest of gold and a dream?”
She framed his face with her hands. “England was yours and Scotland mine. We’ve lost them. Together we will make our own.”
“I love you, Rena. More than my life.”
“Brigham, the child—”
“Shall be happy. I swear it.”
“Sooner than we think,” she managed. At his expression, she managed another laugh, then winced. “Oh, I think he has my impatience. I need Gwen, Brigham, and Mother.”
“But you said it would be a few weeks yet.”
“It’s not what I say.” She held a hand over her belly as it hardened with a contraction. “It’s what he says.”
She caught her breath, then giggled when he swept her awkwardly into his arms. “Brigham, there is no need. I’ll break your back.”
At that moment she felt weightless. “Madam,” he said with a trace of mockery. “Have a little faith.”
Epilogue
Near the last day of June, fourteen months after he had raised his standard, Prince Charles landed near Mugston House on the Isle of Skye. He was disguised as the lady’s maid of Flora MacDonald, a young woman who risked her life to travel with him and see him to safety.
He had missed capture by a hairbreadth, but had lost neither his ambition nor his eagerness. Nor had he lost his air of romance. He left Flora with a lock of his hair and the wish that they might meet again, at the Court of St. James.
Brigham saw him briefly. They spoke as they had often spoken in the past, with ease and mutual respect. Charles did not, though the hope was in his heart, ask Brigham to join him on the journey to France.
“You will miss him,” Serena said as they stood in their bedchamber at Mugston House.
“I will miss him as a man, and I will grieve for the loss of what might have been.” He gathered her close, holding her newly slim body against his. “It was he and his cause that brought me to you. We did not win, Rena, but I have only to look at you, and my son, to know that neither did we lose.” With his arm around her, he turned to look down at the child they had christened Daniel. “It is as your father said, love. It has not been for naught.” He pressed his lips to hers, lingering over the kiss, drawing out the passion, the love and the trust. “Are you ready?”
With a nod, she picked up her traveling cloak. “If only Mother and Coll and Maggie would go with us.”
“They need to stay, as we need to go.” He waited as she gathered up the child. “You will have Gwen and Malcolm.”
“I know. I only wish …”
“There will be a MacGregor in Glenroe again, Serena. And we will come back.”
She looked at him. The sun was streaming through the window at his back. He was as he had been when she had first seen him, dark, stunningly handsome, a little reckless. It made her smile even as the baby stirred against her. “There will be a Langston at Ashburn Manor again. Daniel will come back, or his children will. They will have their place there, and in the Highlands.”
He lifted the chest that held the little Dresden shepherdess. One day he would give it to his son. He had bent to kiss her again when there was a knock on the door.
“Your pardon, my lord.”
“What is it, Parkins?”
“We will lose the tide.”
“Very well.” He gestured to the other cases. “And Parkins, must I remind you that you are to address me as Mr. Langston now?”
Parkins hefted the cases in his thin arms. He had asked his favor of his lady, and he and the new Mrs. Parkins were traveling to America. “No, my lord,” he said mildly, and proceeded them.
; Over Brigham’s oath, Serena laughed and walked out with the baby. “You will always be Lord Ashburn, Sassenach. Come.” She held out a hand to him. “We are going home.”
In from the Cold
Chapter 1
His name was MacGregor. He clung to that even as he clung to the horse’s reins. The pain was alive, capering down his arm like a dozen dancing devils. Hot, branding hot, despite the December wind and blowing snow.
He could no longer direct the horse but rode on, trusting her to find her way through the twisting paths made by Indian or deer or white man. He was alone with the scent of snow and pine, the muffled thud of his mount’s hooves and the gloom of early twilight. A world hushed by the sea of wind washing through the trees.
Instinct told him he was far from Boston now, far from the crowds, the warm hearths, the civilized. Safe. Perhaps safe. The snow would cover the trail his horse left and the guiding path of his own blood.
But safe wasn’t enough for him. It never had been. He was determined to stay alive, and for one fierce reason. A dead man couldn’t fight. By all that was holy he had vowed to fight until he was free.
Shivering despite the heavy buckskins and furs, teeth chattering now from a chill that came from within as well as without, he leaned forward to speak to the horse, soothing in Gaelic. His skin was clammy with the heat of the pain, but his blood was like the ice that formed on the bare branches of the trees surrounding him. He could see the mare’s breath blow out in white streams as she trudged on through the deepening snow. He prayed as only a man who could feel his own blood pouring out of him could pray. For life.
There was a battle yet to be fought. He’d be damned if he’d die before he’d raised his sword.
The mare gave a sympathetic whinny as he slumped against her neck, his breathing labored. Trouble was in the air, as well as the scent of blood. With a toss of her head, she walked into the wind, following her own instinct for survival and heading west.