A Highlander Never Surrenders (18 page)

“Even warriors care about something,” she accused. “Where does your loyalty flow? To the Royalist MacGregors, or to the Roundhead Campbells? They call you commander, but you are truly just a rogue.”

His expression darkened. His lips tightened with anger, and his mount bucked and snorted forward at the pressure applied to its ribcage. Sensing the sudden danger to her well-being tempted Claire to reach for her sword.

“D’ye love him?” he asked again, refusing to be pulled into her fight, and proving to Claire once again the resolute command he held over his emotions.

“Aye, I love him!” she shouted at him, frustrated by his silly question. “I am considering wedding him because I want a husband to obey and a dozen babes at my breasts!”

The dark furrow of Graham’s brow vanished, and he smiled at her so suddenly, every moment but this one fled from her memory.

“What d’ye know of babes?”

She shrugged and quirked her mouth at him, liking the fact that he knew her enough already to appreciate the sheer absurdity of her declaration. “I know they need to eat.”

“And, one hopes, not all at the same time.” Graham laughed, and Claire joined him. She didn’t ask him again about the days that had passed between them. She wanted to put the past behind her and let her guard down a little with him. She wanted to laugh with him more often and not worry about who was besting whom. His mirth made her feel ridiculously lighthearted, a condition that was sorely lacking in her life since Connor died.

“So tell me about James Buchanan,” he said as his laughter faded.

“What do you want to know?”

“How long has he been a friend of your brother’s?”

“Since we were eight. Connor and I are . . . were twins.”

Graham studied her face, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. “Do twins fight as often as other siblings do?”

“Connor and I had fights aplenty,” she laughed softly. “But he fought with James more. They were like true brothers.”

“I did not fight with my brother much. But my sisters bickered endlessly.”

Claire narrowed her eyes and snaked a grin at him. “Mayhap that explains your aversion to living with a woman.”

“Mayhap,” Graham agreed. “There were eleven of them.”

Claire let out a little gasp of surprise and repulsion. “Dear God, you poor man. Connor would have hanged himself if there had been eleven of us.”

“I spent much time with Callum as a boy. We fought all the time, but ’twas never serious. Who usually won?”

When Claire cast him a puzzled look, he clarified, “When Connor and James fought, who usually won?”

“Och, Connor did. All the time.”

They talked the entire way to Ravenglade, and Claire was glad they did. She saw a more open and genuine side of Graham. She had been wrong about his not caring for anyone. He cared deeply about his kin and his friends, and Claire found herself a bit envious of them. She was sorry she had said all those terrible things to him, but he seemed to have forgotten them, and that was fine with her.

“Do as I say,” she said in a low voice as they waited for the drawbridge to descend in front of them. “Give the others a chance to get accustomed to you and all will be fine.”

Graham didn’t answer, but scanned the entire inner bailey when it came into view. It was deserted but for a few bothies, a smith, and at least fifty men waiting on horseback on the other side of the drawbridge. Another fifty stood watching them from the battlements, alert to the visitors below.

“Impressive,” Graham muttered to Claire as the horsemen approached. “All Buchanans?”

“Hardly any Buchanans,” Claire told him. “These are mostly men who follow my brother. The Buchanans hold this land in fief for my cousin Charles, but Connor ruled here. All are outlaws, and don’t care who they kill.” She cut him a teasing glance. “So make sure they like you.

“Captain,” she called out, and a rider took the lead, reaching her first. The man looked happy enough to see her, but spared her only a brief look before his eyes settled on Graham.

“Steven, there is a group of men waiting beyond the forest. Anne is with them. They are Royalists, save one, and he is a friend. You will ride out now and bring them here while I inform James.”

The captain did not hesitate to do her bidding, even as another man, riding out from the rest, ordered him to make haste.

He sat tall in the saddle, his raven hair slicked back into a tight queue tied at his nape. His eyes were a deep shade of cobalt lit from within when he looked at Claire. Graham watched him closely as he offered Claire a loving smile and raised her hand to his lips.

“I should throttle your neck for leaving here without a word. I feared you dead.”

“Monck took Anne,” Claire informed him. “She has been safely returned to us,” she hastened to add when his expression went black. Graham eyed her, noting her use of the word “us.” “James, this is Commander Graham Grant. He and his companion . . .”

James finally turned to Graham. “Commander of the clan Grant?”

Graham shook his head. “The clan MacGregor.”

Looking rather impressed himself, James held his hand out to him. “Have you come to fight on our side? We certainly could use you.”

“James,” Claire drew his attention back to her. “Commander Grant and the MacGregors aided me in rescuing Anne. The rest of his men await safe approach.”

“They have it!” Buchanan ordered without hesitation. “They are welcome to stay for as long as they wish.”

“One night is sufficient,” Graham thanked him.

“James, they saved Anne with the invaluable aid of Lord Campbell of Argyll.”

“A Campbell?” James turned back to her, a deep frown marking his brow. “They are Roundheads, Claire.”

“Aye, I know that,” Claire agreed with a wry smile. She loved James dearly, but he had a way of speaking down to her, as if she could not possibly understand the ways of war, her being a woman and all. “I trust him.”

James lifted a doubtful brow at her, then offered her an indulgent smile. “There is much you need to tell me, I think.”

Claire nodded, then looked at Graham. How would she get James alone before the morning? Did she even want to anymore? Aye, she had no choice. James had to help her now. Once she and her sister reached Skye there would be no escaping the fearsome protection of the chieftain whose name his own men whispered. And all to be brought right back to Monck when he sent for them.

Chapter Sixteen

I
f only we could see what is truly written on a man’s heart.

Robert sat with Graham and the others in Ravenglade’s great hall. They’d been here for over an hour now discussing the social unrest of the country and Monck’s reasoning for requesting the MacGregors’ aid in keeping Connor Stuart’s sisters safe until he found them trustworthy husbands. When Buchanan asked if the governor had chosen who those husbands might be, Robert answered with a resounding no before Graham or anyone else had a chance to reply. He worried that Buchanan might claim his bride now that she was here. Robert was not opposed to fighting, but four and ten men would have no chance against Ravenglade’s garrison should Buchanan refuse to let Anne leave.

“Claire said that her brother was killed in London?” Robert heard Graham ask.

“That is correct,” Buchanan replied somberly. “We were ambushed on our way to meet with General Fleetwood. I feel responsible for Connor’s death.”

And mayhap you are
, Robert thought before his mind wandered back to Anne. Where had she been carted off to? It was the first time she’d been out of his sight since they left Edinburgh. He hoped Claire was with her. There were too many unruly looking men here for him to feel comfortable with Anne anywhere but at his side.

“And how did Connor receive word that Fleetwood had agreed to a meeting?” Graham asked. “Did Monck send a missive?”

Robert perked his ear to Buchanan’s reply. If he answered aye, they would have him. General Monck said he put nothing in writing when communicating with Royalists.

“There was no missive,” Buchanan said, dashing Robert’s hopes. “One of the agreements Monck had with Connor was that there could never exist any proof of the governor’s associations with the rebel Royalists.”

“Then who delivered the message about the meeting?” Robert asked, tapping his fingers on the table.

“I did,” Buchanan said. “After it was delivered to me by one of Monck’s captains.”

Robert turned his full attention to Anne’s betrothed. “Why was it not delivered to Stuart directly?”

“I do not know,” Buchanan replied, meeting the suspicion in Robert’s eyes with a rapier-sharp sneer. “Tell me, Roundhead, how it is that you succeeded in gaining the trust of Connor Stuart’s sister?”

Robert explained how they had come upon her being held captive by Lambert’s men outside Stirling.

“Ah, so you saved her.” Buchanan guessed the rest.

“Don’t tell her that.” Graham’s easy laughter filled the hall. “Six men were already dead by the time we arrived on the scene. Lady Stuart is a bit overzealous, aye?”

“A bit?” Buchanan leaned back in his chair and drew out a long-suffering sigh. “God protect the poor fool who takes her as a wife.”

Graham agreed, and the two men burst into hearty laughter.

Robert was surprised that Graham was finding such amusement in his predicament. It seemed his friend’s humor had been fully restored. Robert glowered at him, then went back to frowning at the comely bastard Anne was to marry. “General Monck’s men were attacked outside Stirling. Do you know anything about that?”

“Are you suggesting that I do, Campbell?” Buchanan’s laughter faded as he pushed forward slowly in his seat.

“Of course not,” Graham intervened jovially before Robert opened his mouth again. “We’ve been in the saddle longer than any of us cares to recall. Mayhap another drink will help restore our normally agreeable natures.”

“A fine idea!” Angus nearly stood up and cheered Graham’s suggestion.

Agreeable natures? Why in damnation was Graham insinuating that they might be willing to accept whatever Buchanan told them? Robert certainly would not be swayed so easily. Graham knew that.

Sparing Robert one last warning look, Buchanan motioned for more drinks to be served before turning his attention back to Graham. “General Monck is now my mortal enemy, it is true,” he amended with a casual shrug of his broad shoulders. “But I would be a fool to attack him or his men. Surely you realize that, Commander. When the king is restored, the governor will be brought to justice.”

“I respect yer restraint, Buchanan.” Graham accepted his cup and raised it to Claire’s “dear James.” Beside him, Robert’s chair screeched against the floorboards as he left it. “If ’twere my best friend that had been slain,” Graham continued as if no interruption had occurred, “I fear my rash emotions would get the best of me.”

Robert stewed, gazing out the window at the bailey below. How much longer was Graham going to kiss Buchanan’s arse? He’d delivered his message to Buchanan. Monck wanted to see him. Buchanan refused, citing his mistrust for the man he claimed had betrayed his friend. There was naught more to discuss. They were no closer to knowing the truth than they were yesterday. Robert wanted to leave, to take Anne to Skye, where he could . . .

“ ’Tis the mark of a great leader when his men show such ferbearance,” Graham went on, further irritating Robert.

The hall grew uncomfortably silent for the space of a breath. Robert tapped his foot on the floor.

“Aye,” Buchanan finally said. “A great leader, indeed.”

“Claire told me ye were good friends.”

“Aye, we were.”

“Like brothers.”

“I loved him, I am not ashamed to say.”

Robert prayed for patience when Graham began talking about Callum. When Angus and Brodie joined in the praising of
their
great laird and leader, Robert swore under his breath. How much more time would they waste here? Why the hell was Graham so talkative, so damned affable? God’s blood, Graham could befriend all of Parliament if he set his mind to it.

Robert’s eyes widened suddenly as understanding dawned on him and he realized what Graham was doing.

“Let us drink to Connor Stuart.” Graham’s voice was downright reverent. “Tell us about this man who was like a brother to ye, and that fateful day of his death. Ye were with him. It must have been painful fer ye, indeed.”

Robert finally smiled when Buchanan began to talk, lured by the warm smile and the “agreeable nature” of his guest.

Clever bastard.

Claire closed the heavy wooden door behind her, looked around to ensure that no one in Graham’s company had seen her, and stole down the torchlit hall of the upper landing. James had agreed to aid her, and promised to do so without bloodshed. Now she only had to convince Anne to go along with their plan.

She came to an abrupt halt when she saw Graham turning the corner with Mary, the wife of Iain MacDonald, one of Connor’s most faithful followers. It was clear by Mary’s low, inviting laughter that Graham was in the process of seducing her right out of her marriage vows! Claire gritted her teeth. Did the rogue’s decadence know no bounds?