As High as the Heavens (13 page)

The midday meal consisted of two hastily dressed and
roasted hens, some leftover venison haggis, fresh-baked
barley bannocks, a round of hard cheese, and a mess of
boiled cabbage. Dessert-for all Scotsmen were fond of
their sweets-was a burnt cream pudding.

Though Heather had no cooking ability, she offered
Beth's services to assist Fiona. Duncan, quite surprisingly,
volunteered to fetch whatever ingredients were needed,
set the table, then carry over the bowls of food. Heather,
in the meanwhile, played the hostess, graciously serving
her father, Angus, and Malcolm more heather ale.

Soon thereafter, Angus hinted broadly that he and
Robert should depart. As Heather watched her father say
his farewells to the others, freshened anxiety swelled in
her. Once he was gone, her fate-whatever it was meant
to be-was sealed.

"Ye must be brave, lass," Robert said when he finally
came to his daughter. "It's a hard thing I ask of ye, and well
I know it, remaining behind with strangers in a strange
place. But ye do have Beth and Tavish." He managed a grin. "It wasn't easy giving up my head groomsman, ye
know, but I did it for ye, lass."

"Aye, Father," Heather mumbled, blinking back the
tears. "I know."

"Lass, lass, it's only for three months." He took her by
the arms and pulled her to him.

Och, but he smelled so good, Heather thought, clinging to her father like one drowning. Smelled like home,
calling to mind those once simple, happy times when
she had been safe, cosseted, secure. But such comfort
and the naive belief life would always be so had fled,
never to be cherished again. Now, all she had was herself.
Her wits, her courage, and her determination not to be
vanquished-neither by life nor by any man.

"Once it's over," her father blithely forged on in what
Heather knew was a well-intended attempt to comfort
her, "only three months later ye'll wed Charles Seton.
Soon enough, all of this will be only a memory. A memory
of a great adventure in which ye did yer verra braw part
to save our queen."

She nodded numbly, then shoved back. For several
seconds Robert stared intently down at her. Then a frown
creased his brow, and he opened his mouth to speak.

Forcing a bright little smile, Heather immediately cut
him off. She knew him well and knew, despite all his selfserving actions and complex, conflicting motivations,
the soft spot he had for her in his heart. He was on the
verge of rescinding his request for her to remain here and
teach Duncan Mackenzie what he needed to learn. And
if he did so, Heather wasn't certain she wouldn't leap at the chance to return home. Return home, and ruin all
the carefully laid plans to rescue the queen.

"Get on with ye." She punctuated the command with
a wave of her hand in the direction of Angus Mackenzie
and the horses. "The day draws on. Ye must leave or ye'll
not reach the tower house before dark."

He laughed then, his relief immediately evident. "Aye,
that we must." Her father paused a moment longer. "Ye'll
be all right then, lass? Ye're sure?"

Nay, Father, Heather silently replied, I'm not sure. Two
days ago I could've given ye a better answer but two days
ago I hadn't met Duncan Mackenzie. Two days ago, I was
yet untouched, still ignorant of what havoc desire can play
with the heart and mind.

But none of that is yer concern. Ye've greater problems
awaiting ye and far larger schemes of li fe and death with
which to deal. In comparison, my petty fears and romantic dilemmas pale, shrivel to insignificance-as well they
should.

"Aye, Father," Heather said instead, "it'll all be fine."
She laughed. "If only Duncan Mackenzie truly can be
made to appear the fine gentleman in but three months'
time."

At the mention of the big Highlander, something
passed across her father's face. Something dark, angry.

"Don't imagine for a moment, lass," he muttered, lowering his voice for her ears alone, "even if ye can effect
such a transformation, that the disguise sinks past that
rogue's pretty face. Beware of that muddy-mottled rascal, I say. He'd like naught better than to ply ye with his soulful looks and honeyed words, and for no reason other
than to breed ye, then brag on it to all his friends."

Hot blood flooded Heather's face. She lowered her
gaze.

"Father! Don't speak so ... so-"

"So crudely?" he finished for her. "Well, it's the truth
and can't be ignored. I've seen his kind before. Have a
care, lass, is all I say. Ye've much to lose if ye give yer
heart to him. He, on the other hand, only stands to gain.
It's the way of things and will always be so, I'm verra
sorry to say."

They cannot help themselves ...

With a chilling rush, her mother's dying words washed
over Heather. She shivered.

"Aye, Father." She lifted her gaze once more to meet
his. "Yer words are true. I won't forget."

Robert Gordon smiled. "I know. Ye're not only a good
lass but a sensible one. Ye're that Highlander's match
and more." As if secretly pleased about something, he
chuckled softly. "Och, what I wouldn't give to stay and
watch ye humble that arrogant young stallion. It'd be
worth-"

At that moment, Angus-already mounted-rode over.
"Hoot mon," he cried. "Are ye planning to squander the
entire day in farewells, then? The sky's taking on a rather
ominous cast and may well bode snow before nightfall.
If we don't depart soon ..."

"Aye, aye," Robert agreed laughingly. "Even now I was
just finishing with my daughter." He hesitated, then gave
Heather one final, quick hug before heading off to his
horse.

She watched him ride away, her brawny uncle at his
side, her gaze never leaving her father until the two men
finally disappeared over the hill. Already the clouds were
beginning to obscure the sun, and the wind had taken
on a bite it hadn't carried earlier. Heather clutched her
warm, woolen cloak more closely to her. They'd be lucky
indeed to make it back before-

"He warned ye against me, didn't he?"

Heather jumped in surprise, the unexpected sound of
Duncan Mackenzie's deep voice startling her from her
preoccupied thoughts. She whirled around, the hem of
her cloak creating flurries in the snow.

"I-I don't know what ye're talking about. Not that it's
aught of yer business at any rate, what my father and I
said to each other."

Duncan gave a snort of disgust. "Don't play the fool
wi' me, Heather Gordon. I saw the sly looks yer father
sent me as he held ye. He thinks I'm some craven lecher
and mean to bed ye sooner rather than later."

Once again, Heather's cheeks flooded with warmth.
"And what if he did say it?" she demanded, suddenly
weary of being fought over, much less considered some
prize side of beef. "Would he have been so far off the
mark? Would he?"

Anger flared in Duncan's eyes. "It's one thing to desire
a comely wench. It's quite another to take advantage of
her."

"It isn't honorable, is it?" she taunted, her hands fisting
at her sides. "And ye, being an honorable man and all,
wouldn't ever take advantage of a woman? Would ye?"

He stepped close, so close he all but towered over her. Heather quashed the impulse to move back, refusing to
let the Highlander intimidate her. He was quite imposing, though, and a fleeting image of him engulfing her
in his arms filled her.

What would it feel like to be held close to him? To
lay her face on his big, broad chest? To hear his heart
thundering beneath her ear?

Somehow, none of the questions mattered. Somehow,
Heather sensed with an instinct strong and sure, there
was nothing Duncan Mackenzie could do to her that
would be unwelcome or disgusting. In her deepest, innermost being, in spite of everything warning her to the
contrary, she knew she wanted what he offered, wanted
him. Craved what she was forbidden to desire and dared
not take.

"It's true enough," he said, his voice a husky rasp. "I'd
never take advantage of a woman. Never. My immortal
soul is worth far, far more to me than some passing
gratification of the flesh."

His mention of a religious faith took Heather by surprise. She hadn't imagined a man such as Duncan Mackenzie to be overly devout. He was too earthy, too blunt
spoken, and too unequivocal about his interest in her.
Then again, perhaps he was but trying a different tack
to blindside and beguile her.

She smiled grimly. One way or another, he'd be sadly
disappointed if he thought to win her with claims of
saintly virtues. One could hardly be manipulated by
something one no longer believed in.

"Yer words sound honorable enough," Heather said,
steadfastly meeting his wary, watchful scrutiny. "But how honorable can it truly be, when an experienced
man seduces some maiden who doesn't yet sufficiently
know herself? Indeed, how honorable is it to manipulate
a maiden's romantic dreams of true love, twisting them
to a more carnal intent that ultimately serves only the
man and never the woman? Where is there aught of
honor in that?"

"Ye ask hard questions, lass." Duncan shook his
head and sighed. "Yet why must all the honor lie wi'
the man? Mayhap a woman should also consider her
own honor, and not offer promises she has no intention of keeping. Mayhap ye shouldn't send me those
hot, slanting looks, nor tease me wi' yer saucy words,
nor... nor...

As if realizing the turn the conversation had suddenly
taken, Duncan faltered. Slowly, a flush crept up his neck
and flooded his rough-hewn face. He closed his eyes for
an instant, shook his head again, and sighed.

"Well, now, I've sure and stumbled into a dung hill and
dirtied myself handsomely, haven't I?" he asked finally
with a sheepish grin.

"Ye've only yerself to blame," Heather muttered angrily, refusing to concede him anything. "Ye were, after
all, the one who started this sorry debate."

He chuckled and shoved his fingers through his windswept mane, sweeping the lustrous chestnut locks back
from his face. As if drawn by some invisible thread,
Heather's gaze lifted to his hair, lingered there a moment longer than was wise, then fell to his face. Duncan
stared back at her, knowing even as did she, what she
had once again done.

Ye shouldn't send me those hot, slanting looks, nor tease
me...

A flood tide of guilt and shame swamped Heather.
Frustration filled her. Fool, she berated herself. She was
naught more than a silly fool. And yet she blamed and
scolded him.

"I-I beg pardon," Heather said, forcing herself to offer
an apology as bitter as gall. "Ye're right, of course, in wishing to share the blame equally with the woman. I don't
mean to give ye false messages, or play the tease."

"I don't think they're false, lass. The messages ye send
me, I mean." Duncan smiled sadly. "I but think ye don't
sufficiently know yerself yet, or understand fully the
implications of what ye offer. For my part, though, I'll
endeavor to treat ye honorably during this time we must
be together."

He turned then and headed back to the cottage, leaving
Heather to stand there, suddenly aware everyone else
had already gone inside. Everyone save Fiona Mackenzie,
who was leaning on her cane in the doorway, a troubled
look in her eyes.

Heather found Beth in their new bedchamber, apparently in the throes of unpacking. Still preoccupied and
disturbed by her most recent verbal tussle with Duncan
Mackenzie, Heather needed a moment to realize her
maidservant had paused in her task and was now staring
at the bed in horror. After grabbing up her harp from
the midst of one parcel, Heather glanced in the direction of Beth's gaze.

There, in a nest made from two of Heather's fine silk
gowns and several lawn chemises, was a most decidedly
pregnant if scruffy-looking terrier bitch. A prick-eared,
motley brown dog who had apparently decided it was
time to give birth.

"Nay," Heather wailed and, well aware of Beth's fear
of dogs, lunged at the panting, distressed little animal.
"Not on my gowns. Not on my gowns!"