As High as the Heavens (24 page)

He stirred, opening his eyes. When he realized she
was awake, he smiled.

"Ye're better then, are ye, lass?"

"Aye, Duncan."

Heather's heart swelled with tenderness as she noted
the dark circles smudging his eyes and the weary slump to his shoulders. He had lost sleep, been worried about
her. Hot tears stung her eyes.

"How long ..."-she swallowed hard and licked her
dry lips-"how long have ye been with me?"

"It doesn't matter. We all took turns with ye, sponging
yer brow, giving ye sips of water when ye were coherent
enough to swallow. We were all concerned."

"Ye're all good and true friends." Heather stirred restlessly, tried to push to her elbows in an effort to sit up,
and failed. "Help me, if ye please, Duncan. I'm as weak
as a newborn kit."

"Aye, that ye are, lass." He stood, leaned down, and,
grasping her gently beneath her arms, pulled her up
in bed. "Suffice it to say, we were quite worried about
ye.

He smelled of fresh air and wool. Of clean man and
pine. She savored his scent, just as she savored the brief
feel of his big, strong hands on her as he helped her to
sit. She hunkered down against the pillows he had just
fluffed behind her and smiled.

"I'm sorry to be such a burden. I know ye've many
duties, and yer lessons ..."

"Hush, lass." Duncan laid a silencing finger to her
lips. "No one begrudges ye the time they spent with ye.
No one."

She was tempted to ask about Fiona, wondering if
the older woman had forgiven her at last. Then Heather
thought better of it. If Duncan was yet unaware of the
difficulties between her and his mother, it was better to
let that lie. Besides, it was a problem best worked out
between her and Fiona.

"I'll be back to my old self in no time. I promise." She
managed an encouraging smile. "Why, we could even resume yer lessons after the midday meal. I'm certain-"

"Ye'll rest after the midday meal," Duncan was swift to
correct her. "And I don't want to hear one word of protest
from ye about it, either. Time enough to continue my
lessons in a few days, after ye're fully recovered."

Heather opened her mouth to inform him yet again he
wasn't her nursemaid, then thought better of it. It was
hardly fair recompense for his solicitous care, immediately to begin arguing with him. She sighed, lowering
her gaze to the fine, hand-worked coverlet.

"As ye wish."

A chuckle rumbled deep in Duncan's chest. "Ye're quite
biddable, ye know, when ye're sick. I think I like that.
Aye, I think I like that verra much."

"Do ye now?" Heather's head snapped up. "Well, don't
come to expect it. Once I'm feeling more like my old
self, I-"

"Ye'll once more be the saucy, sharp-tongued wench
as ye were before," he finished for her. "But that's fine as
well. I like ye saucy and sharp-tongued, too."

She arched a slender brow, inexplicably pleased. "Do
ye now?"

Duncan nodded with vehement conviction. "Aye, that
I do."

"Nay, Duncan. Ye can't go," Heather pleaded with frantic
intensity two weeks later. "Ye can't risk yerself so close
to the time we must depart for Kinross. It's too dangerous.

"Lass, lass," Duncan said, chuckling. "It's still nearly a
month before our departure for Kinross and Lochleven
Castle."

"I don't care. I say again. It's too dangerous." She took
hold of his arm, her nails digging into hair-roughened
flesh and its underlying muscle. Somehow, some way,
Heather thought, her panic rising, she had to make him
listen to reason. "If aught happens to ye, any hope for
the queen's successful rescue is forfeit."

"Would ye send my father after the reivers alone then?"
Duncan's expression darkened, and Heather knew he was
finally at the end of his patience. "Or would ye prefer,
instead, we ignore the five head of cattle that were stolen?" As if to put an end to their discussion, he wrenched
free of the painful grip she had on his arm.

"They aren't worth yer life or the success of the
plot."

"Mayhap to ye," he growled, casting her a troubled
look. "They're worth little in comparison to yer great
wealth, after all. But to us, five cattle are a small fortune."

Stung by his cutting words, Heather stepped back.
"Ye've no call to speak to me like that. My concern is for
yer safety, and not just because of the plot."

"Well, mayhap I was a wee bit harsh," he admitted,
his face reddening. "But it'd help mightily if ye didn't
berate me so. I'll be careful. I always am."

"Duncan's a brave warrior, lass," Malcolm added, walking up at that moment to join them. "And, if I do say so
myself, I've another fight or two left in this old body."

Two crudely stitched leather bags hung over each of
Malcolm's shoulders. In his arms, he carried two goatskin-covered water flasks. He handed a flask and leather
bag to Duncan, then walked to his horse. Duncan flung
both over his shoulder.

After securing the articles, Malcolm immediately
swung up on his mount. He shot his son an expectant
look. Then, to give Heather and Duncan a moment more
of privacy in which to say their farewells, he pretended
interest in the distant mountains.

With a weary sigh, Duncan turned back to Heather.
"It's time to go, lass. The longer we linger, the farther
away the cattle and reivers get."

She stared up at him a long moment, countless emotions roiling within. Then, with a soft cry, Heather flung
her arms about his neck, hugging Duncan close.

"Take care," she whispered achingly. "I don't know
why, but I fear for ye greatly."

After a split second of quite evident surprise, Duncan
pulled her close. "And is this sudden display of affection mayhap because ye've finally realized how irresistible I am," he asked with a grin, "and can't bear to be
parted?"

At the hopeful, teasing note in his voice, combined
with his heart-stopping smile, Heather couldn't help but
smile in return. Then, remembering herself, she forced
a stern look to her face and leaned back to glare up at
him.

"All I've realized about ye, Duncan Mackenzie, is that
ye're a big, blustering fool."

He pretended affront but didn't release her. "Well, it's
said women like that sort of man. Tavish is as big and
blustering as I, and he seems to suit Beth just fine."

"Aye, that he does," Heather agreed, momentarily
forgetting her own concerns in her happiness for Beth.
"Indeed, why not take him with ye?" she added, sudden
inspiration striking her. "I'd feel much better if there
were three big, braw men going after the reivers than
just two."

"And who'd protect ye women then?" Duncan shook
his head. "Nay, Tavish stays behind and no more of it."

"But I know how to use a bodice knife now," Heather
protested. "Ye yerself said I was quite adept with it, and
that after only a week's practice. I could protect Beth
and yer mother, if need be."

"Tavish stays, lass."

To punctuate his statement, Duncan released her, turned, and tied the water flask and leather bag to his
saddle. Then, without even a backward glance, he swung
up onto his horse. Only then did he again meet Heather's
gaze.

"I must be going." He gathered up the reins.

"Duncan, a moment more." She reached up, laying
her hand on his bare knee.

Duncan's glance fell to where her hand rested on his
leg. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Then he
looked up.

"Aye, lass?"

"Take care of yerself. For yer sake ... and mine."

He grinned, his eyes gleaming with a savage joy. "Aye,
for yer sake and mine."

With a shout of laughter, Duncan wheeled his horse
about and sent it galloping down the road. Malcolm
shot him a puzzled look, then urged his own mount out
after his son.

Heather stood there for a long while, watching until
they disappeared at last into the morning mists. Try as
she might, though, she couldn't shake off the sense of
foreboding, of imminent disaster, pressing down on her
like lowering clouds before a storm. She didn't know
from whence the feelings came; she just knew she felt
them. Only one thing comforted her-the hope that,
whatever was soon to come, Duncan and his father would
emerge from it alive.

The night was cold, the black canopy of the heavens
strewn with sparkling, pristine bits of light. High up in one of the budding oaks, an owl hooted. In the dark shadows, feral eyes gleamed. The wind rushed down from
the mountain, stirring the campfire into wildly leaping
tongues of red and the sparks to flying into the air.

Duncan tugged his thick plaid more snugly to him
and scooted closer to the fire. For good measure, he
tossed a few extra sticks of wood into the flames, prodding them into place with a long branch. Then, to warm
his innards even as the fire warmed his flesh, he tossed
down another small cup of whiskey.

"Do ye wish me to top off yer cup again?" his father
asked, leaning over to offer him the whiskey flask.

"Nay." Duncan wiped his mouth with the back of his
hand and shook his head. "Two cups are sufficient to
ease my sleep but not grace me with a headache in the
morn. By the looks of the cattle tracks, we might well
come upon the reivers on the morrow. If so, I'll need all
my wits about me."

Malcolm nodded. "Aye, so ye will. I didn't count on
there being six of them. Mayhap it'd be best to take a
small detour across the mountain and fetch help from
my cousin."

"And waste a full day each way if we did?" Duncan
stroked his beard-stubbled face. "In the meanwhile, the
reivers might well reach the coast, and we could easily
lose the cattle once and for all." He sighed. "I don't like
going up against six men any more than ye do, Father,
but we've done it before."

"Aye," Malcolm agreed with a wry chuckle, gazing
into the fire, "but the last time was ten years ago. I'm
not quite as limber as I used to be."

Duncan grinned. "Ye couldn't tell that from all the
complaining Mither does when she's feeling well, when
ye take it into yer head to chase her about yer room."

"Och, my Fiona will make me feel like a lad of twenty
to my dying day." Malcolm poured himself one last cup
of whiskey, then stoppered the flask and laid it aside.
"It's how ye must feel about the Gordon lass, I'd wager,"
he added, eyeing his son covertly over the cup he had
lifted to his lips.

Och, here it comes now, Duncan thought. He was only
surprised his parents had kept their counsel as long as
they had about Heather's and his growing affection.
Indeed, their concern and disapproval-especially his
mother's-had become all but palpable of late.

He met his father's gaze squarely. "Aye, I suppose
so.

Duncan hesitated, then decided his sire might as well
know the full truth of it. He inhaled a deep breath before
forging on.

"I love her, Father."

"I thought as much. And yer mither was convinced
of it weeks ago."

"Was she now?" Duncan's mouth twisted in a crooked
smile. "Well, it shouldn't surprise me. I've never been
able to hide my true feelings from Mither. Leastwise
not for verra long."

"She asked me to talk to ye about it, this infatuation
ye have wi' the Gordon lass. She asked me to warn ye
away from her afore it's too late."

Duncan made a small sound of disgust and shook his
head. "It's already too late. I told ye. I love her."

"Och, lad, lad." Malcolm downed the contents of
his cup and set it aside. "Didn't I warn ye to beware?
What do ye hope to gain in loving a woman such as
her? She'll never wed ye. It'd be too far to stoop beneath
her, and-"

"Heather's not like that, Father." Angrily, Duncan cut
him off. "Haven't ye seen that with yer own eyes, in the
past months of being with her? And I think ... I hope
she is coming to care for me as much as I do for her."

"So, ye imagine true love will wipe away all the obstacles in yer path, do ye?" His eyes smoldering with
anger, Malcolm leaned toward his son. "Well, Duncan
my lad, life isn't that easy or that simple."