As High as the Heavens (41 page)

Love, optimism, courage. And, above all, trust in the
Lord. All traits that were, to Duncan's way of thinking,
ennobling, no matter what one's true birthright. And
traits, as well, that assured the attainment of great things,
even if only in life's simple, day-to-day existence.

Perhaps one day, he might seek out his real family
if only for the sake of understanding his true heritage.
Someday, too, he knew he'd wed, even if the woman
would never be Heather. And, someday, his children
might wish to know of their ancestors and their true
birthright.

But not now and not soon. After what he had done
to Colin in impersonating him, Duncan doubted his
brother would be eager to open his arms in welcome.
But perhaps someday, he'd seek him out and beg his
forgiveness ...

In the meanwhile, he'd mourn the loss of his bonny
Heather and the few, glorious weeks and months he had
shared with her. He'd mourn her but go on, living out his
life with whatever shreds of honor were left him. There
was no other choice, no other way.

His only solace was time. Time ... the soothing balm that would eventually deaden the pain, heal the wound,
but leave a scar that would remain with him to the end
of his days.

The sun beat down. A gentle breeze caressed his face.
Duncan's lids lowered, and he leaned back against the
house, surrendering at last to the seductive allure of
sleep. Whatever life held, it was too much to deal with
just now. Perhaps in time, but not just now.

The warm sun. The soothing breeze. The solace of
home. They were all sufficient, and more, for now.

Sometime later, the sound of Cuini's sharp, yipping
barks roused Duncan from a deep slumber. He sat up
with a jerk, irritable and lethargic, and glared at the
small dog.

"Must ye raise such a ruckus? If ye want the hare, just
go after it and allow me ..."

As his glance turned in the direction the little terrier
was staring, her hackles up, her body stiffened in defense,
Duncan's voice faded. There, backlit by the setting sun,
were the forms of three horsemen riding down the road
toward him. As Cuini continued her barking, Duncan's
hand instinctively slipped to his dirk.

He lifted his other hand to shade his eyes from the
sun's blinding glare. Though he couldn't make out the
faces, he could tell his visitors were male-a strongly
built man and two lads. They weren't dressed in Highland garb, however.

For a fleeting instant, apprehension that Moray had
discovered his involvement in the plot to free Mary and had sent men to take him back to prison filled him. Then,
abruptly, Cuini ceased her barking. Her tail began to
wag, and she whined in eager anticipation.

Duncan's pulse quickened. His throat went dry. There
was only one other person, aside from him and his
mother, who could elicit such a joyous response from
the little dog.

And that person was Heather Gordon.

"I don't like that look on Duncan's face," Beth muttered
as they neared the cottage. "He doesn't appear at all
happy to see us."

"And quite understandably," Heather muttered back
from the side of her mouth, all the while fighting to quash
her pain and disappointment over Duncan's quite evident
displeasure at their visit. "He mayhap imagines. . ." She
paused as a fresh wave of misery washed over her. "Och,
it doesn't matter. We're here and here we stay until I tell
him of his brother."

They drew up before Duncan and dismounted. Tavish
and Beth hung back, pretending sudden interest in unloading the traveling bags each had tied to their saddles.
Heather, after a moment more to fortify herself, squared
her shoulders and strode up to stand before Duncan.

He looked thinner, his features careworn, indeed, even
a bit older, but that could at least partially be attributed
to his clipped hair. A fierce longing to reach up and
run her fingers through the rich brown and now nearly
two-inch-length curling locks flooded her. But Heather tamped it firmly down. She sensed such an action, at
least at this moment, wouldn't be warmly received.

"Why have ye come?" Duncan's gaze as he scanned
her-and the man's garb she wore as disguise-was narrow and cold. Briefly, his glance lifted to Tavish and
Beth, then returned to her. "And why did yer father and
husband permit ye to travel here without a better escort,
much less come to me at all?"

"My father didn't have a chance to `permit' me to do
aught," Heather snapped, stung by his rude demand. "He
wasn't home and, even if he had been, I wouldn't have
asked. I'm done trying to live my life to his standards.
And as far as a husband goes, I have none, so I didn't
need his permission, either."

Something flickered in Duncan's eyes but passed so
quickly Heather couldn't discern its origins. In the next
instant, Duncan had grabbed her by the arm and was
pulling her along with him.

"Come. Now," he growled. "I wish to speak with ye
in private."

She opened her mouth to inform him she wasn't some
horse to be led, then thought better of it. Far better that
whatever passed between them be done in private. Both
their emotions ran high just now. Nothing was served
making a public display.

As soon as they rounded the corner and reached the
back side of the cottage, Duncan halted. "Well, spit it out,
then. What do ye mean, ye have no husband? Ye were
supposed to wed Seton nearly six weeks ago."

Heather stared up at him, refusing to be intimidated by
his furious glare. "Well, I didn't wed him, ye dim-witted lout. I love ye and will never love another. Or have ye so
soon forgotten or by now don't even care?"

He gave a snort of disbelief. "Och, and sure ye love
me. Is that why I haven't heard aught from ye in the
past two months? And did ye even care what happened
to me after I escaped Lochleven Castle?"

"And why didn't ye seek me out after ye escaped?"
Heather shot back, refusing to give ground over a failing
that was solely his. "Ye're surely bright enough to have
discovered where I lived and have come to me. It isn't as
if it's easy for a young woman to travel about Scotland
alone, ye know. Not to mention, my father had me all
but under lock and key in our home since I refused ever
to wed Charlie."

That comment apparently gave Duncan pause. "Well,"
he finally replied, his tone more subdued, "it wasn't as
if I could seek ye out, either. Just as soon as I returned
from Lochleven, yer father had me thrown into a cell
beneath Drummond House."

The blood drained from Heather's face. "I can't believe
he'd do such a thing."

"Well, he did, and no mistake. I was there for six weeks,
until Angus Mackenzie finally came for me."

She searched his face and saw the truth. "Nay, Duncan," Heather whispered. "Nay.. ."

When she swayed for an instant, he took hold of her
other arm to steady her. "It wasn't yer fault, lass. I never
meant to imply it was."

"It doesn't matter." Heather looked away, unable to
meet his gaze. "All those weeks and I thought ye'd turned
from me, couldn't forgive me, and I didn't try even once to discover what had truly happened to ye." She lifted
her tear-filled glance to his. "Och, if I hadn't been so
proud, so afraid ye were truly no better than my father
and my sister's husband ..."

"There's fault aplenty on both sides, lass."

His grip on her tightened. For a brief, heady moment,
Heather was certain Duncan meant to pull her to him
and kiss her. Then, with a sigh, he released her.

"Why did ye come then, lass? Since it's now evident
ye didn't know the true reason for my lack of communication with ye all these weeks, ye must have another
reason for this visit. Pray, what is it?"

At the renewed reserve in his voice, disappointment
flooded her once more. The barrier of her betrayal stood
between them still. Heather wondered now if it would
ever fall.

"It's yer brother, Colin," she forced herself to reply.
"Moray holds him responsible for Mary's escape or, at
least, Colin's the only man Moray can pin some form
of charge on and make it stick. Even now yer brother
languishes in the dungeon of Edinburgh Castle, awaiting
sentencing and most probably execution."

"So, I must presume no one believed him. How convenient for yer father and the other conspirators. And
how convenient, as well, for me."

"Ye don't mean that."

"Don't I?" He met her shocked gaze with a hard one of
his own. "It was never my idea to involve my brother in
this sorry mess. Let yer father go to Moray and tell him
the truth. Let him inform the regent that it was Colin's
twin who was responsible, and not Colin."

Heather sighed and shook her head. "And do ye truly
expect my father willingly to implicate himself and the
other conspirators, and all for the sake of one of Moray's
allies?"

"I suppose that would stretch the limits of Robert
Gordon's generosity, wouldn't it?" Duncan asked with a
bitter twist of his lips. "So what would ye have me do?
Give myself up instead?"

"Nay, I wouldn't wish for ye to sacrifice yerself. Moray
would only torture ye, then kill ye, once he had the names
of the others from ye. I only thought..." Heather paused,
swallowed hard, then continued. "I only thought that ye
might want to know about Colin. He isn't an evil man,
ye know, just wild and lost after all these years without
a true mither and father. Indeed, despite the relative
inequity of yer upbringing, I'd say ye fared far better in
the end than he."

"Yet now ye ask me to give it all up, to risk everything."

"Nay, Duncan." She reached out to him. "I would never
ask ye-"

He grasped her hand and held her back from him.
"Aye, ye would and just did. Ye knew that, once I heard,
I couldn't turn my back on my brother. How could I?
All politics and misunderstanding aside, he's my kin,
my family, and a family stands together in its hour of
need."

A wild hope and fierce joy filled her. "Does that mean
ye'll go to him, help him?"

Duncan gave a bitter laugh. "Aye, though I haven't any great hope of aught good coming of this. It'll most likely
be, in the end, the ruination of us both."

"We'll find a way," Heather vowed, her voice husky with
a joyous resolve. "Moray won't win this time. Sly, clever
man that he is, he's no match for the two of us."

"There's no `us,' lass," Duncan warned, his gaze narrowing. "This isn't yer battle."

"Isn't it?" Heather twisted free of his hold. Her chin
lifted. "It was a Gordon who brought this misery down
on yer house. It's only fitting a Gordon aid ye in its successful solution."

"Nay." Duncan shook his head with a savage intensity.
"I'll not risk ye in the bargain. It's out of the question!"

"Is it now?" Heather grinned up at him in defiance.
"And how will ye stop me? In coming to ye I've disobeyed
my father. Most likely he'll disown me, once he discovers
what I've done. And, since I also haven't a husband to
command me otherwise..."

"Yer father won't disown ye. Ye're still his only heir.
And I doubt ye'd disobey yer husband in this, either, if
ye had one."

She angled her head, her lips curving in a smile. "Mayhap, and mayhap not. But, in the meanwhile, can I take
that statement as yer acceptance of my aid?"

"Aye," Duncan said, exasperation gleaming in his eyes
and threading his voice. "But I tell ye true, lass. If ye
persist in such headstrong willfulness, I don't know if
ye'll ever find a man to wed ye."

"Then mayhap I don't ever wish to wed at all," Heather
countered, giving a proud toss of her head.

It was finally Duncan's turn to grin. "Aye, mayhap ye
don't, at that."