As High as the Heavens (28 page)

Duncan eyed her wryly, then moved to make room for
her. Heather gathered her skirts and sat, taking great care
to keep her hem from making contact with the damp
ground. Neither spoke for several minutes, pretending
instead a sudden fascination with the wild ducks scavenging in the pond.

Sunlight gleamed on their dappled feathers, catching
glints of ebony and chestnut and gold. The breeze snared
in the fresh green foliage of the newly leafed-out trees,
fought a brief battle for freedom, then rose to soar high
above, the only vestige of its passing a soft rattling of
branches and whisper of leaves. The pond shimmered
and shook before them, then stilled, its surface now a
glassy silver.

Heather could have sat there forever in the silent,
budding forest, Duncan warm and big and powerful at
her side, but that would only serve to comfort her. And
it was Duncan whom she had come to comfort and support, if only she could.

"How are ye faring?" she began, tentatively feeling her
way. "Is there aught I can do for ye in any way?"

He turned, gazed briefly down at her, then riveted his
glance once more on the pond. "I live and breathe. I force
food down to please ye and my mither. I do all expected of me, but this hole, this gaping wound within, near to
sucks the life, and most certainly the joy, from me. And
I can't say, at least at this moment, that I envision my
life ever being happy again."

"It was how I felt," Heather said softly, "when my
sister and then my mither died. Losing someone dear
to ye is the greatest upheaval ye can ever experience in
life. It turns yer world, as ye once knew it, upside down
and inside out. It changes everything ye ever knew or
trusted about life and living. And, for a time at least, it
leaves naught in its wake save, as ye say, a huge, gaping
hole."

Duncan clasped his hands before him and lowered his
head until his long chestnut locks screened his face. "So
what do ye do then, lass? I can't believe it's possible to
endure this kind of pain for long, leastwise not without
going mad."

"I wouldn't think so, either. I can't say, though, what
would be best for ye, Duncan, save that mayhap if there
were ever a time to turn to yer faith, it's now. Though ye
no longer have an earthly father, ye still have a heavenly
One who'll never, ever be far from ye."

He looked up, his mouth quirking in black humor.
"Well, that's a surprise, coming from ye. Of all people, I
never expected ye to say such a thing."

For an instant Heather tensed, then, remembering
herself, forced her shoulders to relax. She laughed.

"Whether I believe it or not isn't the issue. What matters is that ye believe it and find comfort in the believing.

He sighed. "I confess I'm not so sure what I believe
just now. I need time to sort it all out."

Heather reached over and took his hand. "No matter
what ye do, stay close to the Lord. I'd have fared far
better if I had."

"Aye, likely ye would have. Nonetheless, ye survived.
Pray, share what worked for ye."

She paused, her thoughts flitting back to those days,
weeks, and months after her mother had died. "I strove to
fill the gaping hole with new experiences, with learning,
and by involving myself with others," Heather replied
after a time. "At first, it wasn't easy, and I did so with
the greatest difficulty and by dint of much effort. But,
eventually, I began to care again and even find some
fleeting moments of joy in what I did."

"And now?" Duncan lifted haunted yet hopeful eyes
to her. "How do ye feel now?"

Heather swallowed hard. Her heart commenced a
wild pounding beneath her breast. Did she dare reveal
the full extent of her feelings? Did she dare risk laying
bare the secrets of her heart, secrets that now included
a deep and abiding love for him?

She opened her mouth to speak, then clamped it shut
as fear-and a lingering caution-overwhelmed her. To
admit to her love for Duncan when he had yet to proclaim an equal affection for her was tantamount to surrendering all power, all control. It was exactly what her
mother had done in loving her father, and it had broken
her heart. It was what her sister had done, and it had
cost Rose her life.

But, gazing now at Duncan, seeing the hunger and pain burning in his beautiful eyes, Heather also knew she
couldn't turn from him in his time of anguish. Though she
feared the final yielding of her heart, she loved him too
much to deny him whatever comfort she could give.

"How do I feel now?" She repeated his question, a bittersweet smile curving her lips. "Now, though I'll carry
the loss with me for the rest of my days, I face life with
renewed hope. Life begins and ends with people-family,
friends, and those even more special. And, even, mayhap,
also with God. I truly have been blessed. Unworthy as I
am, I've finally found them all." Gently, Heather squeezed
Duncan's hand. "Aye, I truly have been blessed."

He covered her hand with his. "Dare I hope I number
at least as one of yer friends?"

"Ye're that, Duncan Mackenzie," she softly, achingly
said, moved in that moment of poignant, soulful union
past the point of reason, past all constraint and caution.
"Ye're that and so verra, verra much more."

The next three weeks were strained, somber, and overlaid
with a rising tension. Though Duncan healed quickly and
was soon back at work caring for the farm animals, his
usual warm, outgoing manner didn't return. What time
he didn't spend comforting his mother or doing his daily
chores, he used for solitary walks or studying several
books on etiquette and Scottish history that Heather
had given him.

She knew he was purposely avoiding her. She wagered
she also knew why. Despite her protestations to the contrary, Duncan still suspected she knew more than she
cared to reveal of the true story behind his mysterious
background. He was most likely also hurt and angry at
what he saw as her betrayal of him.

If the truth were told, Heather was equally angry. Angry
at her father, angry at the situation that had forced her
into withholding vital, legitimate information from Duncan. Ah, she thought, if only the queen's freedom wasn't
at stake. If only she could foresee what Duncan's reaction would be to learning the truth about his heritage. Perhaps then it would be safe to tell him, or leastwise
convince her father to tell him.

She began to count the days left before her father's
return. And, as time grew short, she tried once more to
involve Duncan in his lessons. He was, however, less
than enthusiastic.

"I don't see the point in practicing dressing like a nobleman," he growled one rainy morning near the end of
April. "Ye can dress me properly the morn I'm to ride off
to Lochleven Castle. By the time it's necessary to change
again, I'll be long gone from there."

"True enough," Heather admitted, digging through her
traveling trunk for a fine linen shirt, black hose, and a
set of padded trunks. "But if aught should happen while
ye're in Lochleven-ye tear an article of yer clothing or
remove some part of yer attire to exercise, ye must know
what each piece of clothing is called and how properly
to dress yerself with whatever is lent ye."

She straightened finally, her arms laden with clothing,
and turned to face him. "Besides, what if talk turns to
the latest Court fashions? Colin Stewart is well known
to favor the finest garb and prides himself on wearing
the most up-to-date clothes."

"Ye mean he's a preening peacock, don't ye?"

"Well, aye, to some extent he is." Heather paused to
consider the slight lump over the bridge of Duncan's
nose and scar below his left eye. "There's naught to be
done about yer nose and scar, I suppose," she finally
said, "save to tell anyone who might ask that ye were set
upon by thieves and soundly beaten."

"So now, atop it all, I must claim to an inability to adequately defend myself." Sighing, Duncan dragged
his fingers through his hair. "Och, is there no end to the
indignities I must endure before this charade is finally
over?"

The act of raking back his hair in exasperation drew
Heather's gaze to Duncan's shoulder-length locks. "Er,"
she began carefully, deciding she might as well tell him
all and get it over with, "there is yet one matter to be
discussed, if we're to guarantee ye appear the spitting
image of Colin Stewart ...

He followed the direction of her glance. "Och, nay,"
Duncan protested, as realization of her meaning struck
him at last. "I can't, I won't, cut my hair."

"Duncan, ye must."

His eyes narrowed. "How short?"

Heather inhaled a deep breath. "Verra short. Colin
wears his hair cropped close to his head."

"Fine, just fine," Duncan muttered. "And I suppose he
also wears one of those prim little beards?"

"Nay." She gave a shake of her head. "Ye're in luck
there. Colin is rather proud of his strong chin and jaw
line, preferring not to hide it beneath some tuft of hair.
Ye will have to take a bit more care, though," she added,
eyeing his beard-shadowed face, "in shaving the morn
ye must depart for Lochleven. Colin is quite fastidious
in all aspects of his grooming."

"A preening peacock, to be sure," Duncan growled
again.

She held out the hose, trunks, and shirt. "Well, be
that as it may, it falls to ye to learn to dress exactly as
Colin would. Do ye think ye can manage to garb yerself properly in these, or should I send Tavish in to assist
ye?"

He shot her an offended look. "I don't need a nursemaid."

Heather shrugged. "Suit yerself."

She watched until Duncan entered his room and shut
the door, then turned and sauntered over to where Beth
sat at the dining table, slicing carrots into a pot of water.
She sat, took up another paring knife, and began scraping a long, fat carrot.

"He's a handful, isn't he?" her maidservant observed,
never once lifting her glance from her task.

"Well, after all these months in the Highlands, I can't
say I find the Court way of dress all that appealing myself." Heather smiled. "There's just something verra
manly about a kilt and strong, bare legs."

Beth looked up then and grinned. "Aye, and even more
so what they wear, or don't wear, beneath those kilts."

Heather flushed. "Beth! Have a care. Fiona might
overhear."

"All the way from her bedchamber? I hardly think
so.

"Well, I don't want to upset her, and she might not take
kindly to hearing us speak so crudely of her son."

"And do ye think she's never heard a lass talk lustfully
of Duncan or near to swoon at the sound of his deep
voice?" Beth laughed and shook her head. "Even his
mither can't help but notice what a big, braw man her
son has become."

"Aye," Heather agreed with a rueful sigh. "A big, braw,
pigheadedly proud-"

The rumbling, rhythmic beat of horses galloping down
the road drew Heather up short. Her eyes widened. She
glanced at Tavish. His hand on his dirk, the big Scotsman rose. At the same instant, the door to Duncan's
bedchamber swung open.

"It's yer father, lass"-he walked from his room, dressed
only in the form-fitting black hose and padded trunks"along with Angus and several of his clansmen."

Though the thought of seeing her father again filled
Heather with an exhilarating mix of joy and relief, she
couldn't help but pause to inspect Duncan for a brief
moment. As fetching a sight as he always was in his
homespun shirt and belted plaid, Heather had to admit
Duncan lent even the fashionably affected Court dress
a decidedly rugged, masculine air.

His long, muscular legs bulged with strength, striking
twin sculptures clothed in black. His broad chest and
equally broad shoulders emanated a raw power few men
could equal. And the sight of the dense thatch of hair
covering his rock-hard pectorals and rippling abdomen
all but took her breath away.

She would never grow tired of looking at him, Heather
thought, even as she wrenched her gaze aside. Indeed,
never grow tired of being with him, though their acquaintance last for the rest of their lives. Such dreaming,
though, must remain a time more in its safe, hidden
little place in her heart. First, there was a matter of the
utmost importance that must, now that her father had
returned, at long last be addressed.

With a resolute straightening of her shoulders, Heather
gathered her skirts and headed for the door. Duncan made a move to follow her. One quick glance at his halfclothed state, however, apparently made him reconsider.
He backed into his bedchamber and shut the door.

There wasn't much time before Duncan changed and
joined them. In the interim, Heather meant to speak
with her father privately. Somehow, some way, she must
convince him to tell Duncan the truth about his real
parents, and tell him now, not later.

She opened the door and hurried outside. Robert Gordon and Angus Mackenzie were, even then, dismounting
before the cottage. Heedless of the drizzle of warm rain,
she quickly made her way down the steps and to her
father. He greeted her with a big hug.