A Highlander Never Surrenders (10 page)

“I’m sure there are women in Skye who have surrendered their dignity to their husbands.” Claire met Graham’s pointed look with an insolent arch in her brow.

“I am corrected then,” Graham acknowledged. “ ’Tis what marriage does to everyone.”

Oddly, Claire found no satisfaction in his concession. She did not care if she ever wed. Swelling with child and spending her days keeping a home tidy were not things she hoped to accomplish someday. But for some reason, the discovery of Graham’s aversion to holy wedlock displeased her.

“Mayhap not everyone,” she countered before she could stop herself. “My sister believes that love can make a marriage bearable, though she has no way of knowing if it’s true.”

“Mayhap ’tis true” Graham allowed. “My brother believes he has found love. I’m certain Callum does also, and they seem happy enough.”

Beside him, Robert gave Graham a stunned look. Graham chose to ignore him. “Some are born to love, while others are not.” He shrugged, dismissing the conversation.

“All are born to love,” Robert argued. “It is the master design.”

Graham laughed, making Claire’s belly flip.

“What are the others born to do?” she asked, fully expecting him to reply with a crude comment about bedding wenches.

He looked at her, his mirth fading into a slightly menacing smile. “They are born to set things aright. With this.” He set his fingers to the hilt at his side and watched her while she nodded. His cheerful grin returned an instant later when Angus agreed with a hearty belch, then raised his pouch to toast comrades old and new who found their death on the battlefield.

Claire studied Graham in the fading light of the day. When the men built a fire, she grew mesmerized by the way the shimmering light danced over the finely carved angle of his gold dusted jaw, his nimbus of angelic curls. She watched his mouth as he spoke, drawn to its tantalizing curves and achingly sensual movements. He smiled at something Robert said and Claire drew her bottom lip between her teeth. For the love of God, he possessed a glorious smile. She imagined him in battle with the promise of death hardening his features, his sleek muscles pulsing with strength and purpose. She looked away quickly when he lifted his emerald gaze over the flames and found her. Her shoulders grew tense when he rose to his feet a moment later and came to sit beside her.

“We will reach Edinburgh on the morrow. Ye will not try to run again while I pretend to sleep, will ye, Claire?”

The hopeful crook of his mouth made her smile against her better judgment. “You do not care how obvious you are, do you? Why, any moment now I expect you to beg.”

“Fer what?” His gaze on her was warm and teasing, yet intense.

She knew exactly for what. He stared at her mouth as often as she stared at his. She was surprised that he might want to kiss her again, since her reaction to him the first time had been so cold. But mayhap this could give her the advantage over him that she needed. She had judged him too quickly. He was not simply a foolish scoundrel with no other thought in his head but which woman to bed next, he was a commander, a leader on the battlefield. By his own words, he’d admitted to being born to battle. She understood him, for she was born for the same purpose, and she would do whatever it took to win. She looked out over the flames at the others conversing among themselves. Drawing her knees to her chest, she finally turned to him. “For a kiss, mayhap?”

He puckered his mouth and narrowed his gaze on her, as if considering it, then he shook his head. “Nae, when I kiss ye again, ye will be willing.”

Now it was Claire’s turn to laugh. What a pompous knave he was. Well, she had just as much confidence as he. She was no muddleheaded maiden ready to fall at his boots, and it was high time he understood it.

“There are many things I would do willingly for my king and kin. Kissing you is not among them.”

He pouted, giving her an instant to doubt her declaration. “ ’Tis a pity. Ye could use the practice—fer James, mayhap.”

She would have found his suggestion about James a curious one if she didn’t want to wrap her fingers around his throat and squeeze the life out him for insulting her yet again. “Lord Buchanan made no complaint when last he kissed me,” she retorted haughtily, noting with immense satisfaction the fading arrogance in his expression.

“Ah, he’s a gentleman then,” he said with a bit of an edge in his voice, then stood up and bade her good eve.

By the time Claire had absorbed the full meaning of his words, he was halfway across the small campsite, heading for Robert. Still, she was tempted to fling her dagger at his back.

“James Buchanan.”

“What?” Robert looked up when Graham reached him.

“Her James. Have ye heard the name before?”

Shaking his head, Robert studied his friend’s brooding countenance, then looked across the fire at Claire.
Her
James? “What has she told you of him?”

“Only his name.”

Robert eyed him warily, then smiled. “And his name alone is enough to cause you to look like you’re ready to remove some heads? Be vigilant, Graham, or you might find your claymore traded for a sprig of heather clutched in your fist.”

Graham stared down at him with a warning glint in his eyes that said Robert’s head might be the first to roll. Then without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked over to a nearby tree, sat beneath it, and closed his eyes.

Chapter Ten

F
orgive me, for I cannot save her.

Just beyond the outskirts of Edinburgh early the next day, Graham called a halt to those riding behind him. All obeyed the commander and prepared to listen as he pranced his snorting mount around. His gaze fell first on Claire, then passed over the rest. “Robert, ye are expected by Monck. Angus, ye were invited. Ye’ll enter the city together. If there are dangers within, I want nae one alone.” Without waiting for acknowledgment from either man, his eyes turned to Claire. “Fer now, ye present the greatest danger to us all. If ye attempt to harm the general in any way, we will be forced to fight an army, and we are not enough men.” His voice was unyielding and decisive, despite his disarming burr. It didn’t matter how he knew of her plans to kill Monck, the fact was he knew of them, and he was going to stop her.

Gritting her teeth, Claire gave her reins a firm yank. She was intercepted almost instantly by his horse’s shoulders and teeth chomping at the bridle, and then by an even firmer hold on her bare upper arm.

“If Monck is guilty of betraying yer brother and causing his death, he is yers and I will stop anyone who hinders ye in yer quest to see him dead.”

“Graham,” Robert interrupted now. “If Monck is murdered, the army will go to war with Scotland.”

“Ye have no faith in yer man, then, Rob?” Graham asked him without releasing Claire’s arm. “If he’s innocent nae harm shall come to him. But let us know with certainty which course we follow before we disagree upon it.” He turned to Claire again, his gaze a bit less obstinate. “I will stand by what I promised. And in the meanwhile, ye will do as I say, as ye have promised.”

She had no choice but to trust him. She hated that he’d turned her own game on her, but she had to admit it was a wise tactic. She had vowed to obey him until they discovered the truth. She would keep her word.

When Robert and the others broke ranks and veered left toward the city a few moments later, she regretted her easy concession. She turned to Graham as an instant of sheer panic engulfed her. She did not know these men, or if they would be able to save her sister should this be another trap. “If there is danger, we should be with them! Robert cannot even fight!” Somewhere among the men, Brodie snickered. “And these others could be struck down!”

Robert cut a path between her and the now-offended MacGregors, all moving in to shout their disapproval of her words. “Lady Stuart,” he said, not caring anymore if she believed he couldn’t fight. His strength at arms was not what made him a man. “I will bring your sister back to you. Whatever happens once we arrive, you will see her again. On this, you have my pledge.”

Claire believed that he meant it, this knight who sought to surpass the noble Sir Galahad where honor was concerned. She just wasn’t sure if he could carry out his vow.

She felt someone tug on her reins and saw that it was Graham when he pulled her horse back and stationed his in front of her.

“Off with ye, now.” The threat in his command was unmistakable, and Claire realized why when she looked at the other Highlanders still grumbling at her.

When they finally rode away, and she was alone with Graham, she glared at his back. “Why can’t you keep your eye on me in the castle? Why must we wait here?”

“Because I do not trust ye so close to the man ye want dead.” He wheeled his mount around and passed her, bending close to her as he went. “And I don’t trust myself if I have to chase ye down in the castle.”

She bit down on her tongue to halt the tremor he caused along her spine at the thought of what he didn’t trust himself not to do. What was this effect his virility had on her senses? What power did he possess to make her forget every blasted thing but the promise of complete seduction in his sultry green gaze? His rank among his men pleased her, for she could never envision herself with a man stationed any lower than commander. Dear God, she was mad for entertaining such thoughts of him! And madder still because she was so tempted to discover if she could match him on this kind of battlefield.

“What makes you so certain you could catch me?” she challenged him while he dismounted and began rummaging through his saddlebag.

“I’m not.” He barely turned to answer her. “And that is what makes ye so satisfying to pursue.” Finding what he was looking for, he sank his teeth into a bruised apple, and then tossed it to her. “Ye’re a strong, stubborn wench, Claire Stuart. But ye should know now,” he added, letting his potent gaze drift over her features. “I plan on having ye.”

Despite the silky lilt in his warning that stilled her breath and set her nerves aflame, Claire smiled at him almost pityingly. “I promise you, it may cost more than a rogue is willing to part with.”

Built upon the throne of an ancient volcanic crag, Edinburgh Castle dominated the skyline from miles away. Robert had visited the capital twice before, when his uncle was hanged for the murder of Liam Campbell, Robert’s grandfather, and then again when Robert was named eleventh Earl of Argyll. When he’d first come here, Robert believed the marvelous fortress a symbol of Scotland herself, strong, ancient, impregnable. Strange how he saw things differently now. For the English had invaded both. Gazing at the grand military structure protected by sheer cliffs to the south, west, and north, Robert wondered just how clever the military was to have secured either.

The only accessible route to the fortress was from the east, along a herringbone pattern of long sloping streets, which he traveled now with Angus and the others close behind him.

They remained alert and cautious as they passed large squares where the people gathered in markets, and around the law courts. Robert still refused to believe the governor had had Connor Stuart killed and then planned on killing the Earl of Argyll by getting him to Edinburgh on the pretext of hunting a man the general knew was dead. Monck had no reason to wish Robert dead, and if he did, he had had two prior opportunities to kill him.

“The traitors must be within,” Angus grumbled, pushing his weary horse up the long trek. “The garrison can see an enemy approachin’ fer bloody leagues.”

Robert looked up at the high battlements surrounding the Crown Square and David’s Tower. He squinted at the hundreds of tiny figures on patrol. Were he and the others in the range of archers? His heart quickened in his chest; then he swore an oath at his cowardice and trotted on.

They reached the outer gate without getting shot and continued beyond the garrison to the mammoth portcullis, where they were welcomed by fifty guardsmen stationed around Monck’s steward, Edward. Clearly every moment of their approach had been observed.

As Robert’s group slowed to a halt, Edward turned to the Highlanders, eyeing their slightly tattered plaids with a somewhat distasteful look. “You must be the MacGregors.”

Brodie growled at him in response, and the steward took two steps back and cleared his throat. “Lord Campbell.” Edward bowed low, knowing the young earl from his previous visits. “The governor has been expecting you.”

To come alone? Or with Connor Stuart in my custody? Robert wanted to ask him.

“I hear some o’ the finest whisky can be found here in Edinburgh,” Angus said, looking around and scratching his belly. “Might we sample a bit o’ yer brew?”

“Of course, I will have some brought to each of your chambers if you will just follow—”

“We’ll follow ye to the great hall and naewhere else,” Brodie cut him off sharply. “We’ll no’ be separated.”

After a bob of his head and a quick glance at Robert, the steward snapped an order to one of the guards. “Clear the great hall.” He turned back to his guests and swept his arm across his waist. “This way.” He led them over a broad cobbled road and then up a steep stone stairway and around a small chapel before they came to the Crown Square. Finally, they were led into the cavernous great hall, once used for meetings of the Parliament. Now the hall was empty save for a massive oak table at its center, wreathed by forty ornately carved chairs. Enormous tapestries lined the walls, and a massive hearth alcoved the north wall, adding warmth and soft light to the hall.