Beloved Warrior (21 page)

But when his eyes met hers, she saw the curtain drop over them once again. His gaze dropped to the awkward way she held the reins. “You do not ride often?”

“Nay,” she said, but something warned her that he suspected her pretense.

He turned suddenly to his brother. “Where is the Spaniard?” he asked.

“Prowling through Lachlan’s books.”

“Does anyone watch him?”

“Aye. And the gates are locked. He will not be leaving without permission.”

Patrick nodded. “We have some business to transact now that you have seen all the goods.”

“There will be no problem selling them,” Rory said. “Not in Morocco, but on the English border.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow.

“We have reliable buyers there,” Rory said.

“Scots?”

“And English,” Rory replied.

“You have become more adventurous since I left.”

“We needed the money. Fa stopped caring about anything but his wine, and our people were being raided weekly by Campbells. More and more were leaving.’Twas the trading that saved us.”

Patrick nodded. “I will require some money for the crew, then bring them back to Inverleith until the ship sails. I want some Macleans inside as well.”

“You think there might be problems?”

“Nay, but many have not been home for years or do not have a home to go to. They’ve never had five pounds in their pockets, and they’ve gone through hell. I think sprinkling a few pieces of gold will assure their faith in me.”

Rory nodded.

“I need a horse.”

“Ride with Miss Mendoza,” Rory said. “She is light enough that it won’t overburden the mare.”

Juliana saw the reluctance in Patrick’s eyes. And why not? She was still the niece of the man who had caused him such misery. But before she could back away, Patrick Maclean nodded. “Move up in the saddle,” he ordered.

That was the last thing she wanted to do. She already had far too strong a reaction to him. Before she could protest, he swung up behind her, settling in the saddle and taking the reins from her hands.

So much for trying to run away. She tried to think of escape as her body slid against his. She felt his warmth, the muscles carved into his body, the strong thighs touching hers.

She found herself leaning against him, her body heating at the abrasion of two bodies pressed against each other.

Her body also instinctively moved with the horse, and her fingers wrapped around the animal’s mane as he urged the mare into a faster pace. Then they were racing along the crest of the cliff.

She thought she could hear the rapid beating of his heart. She felt his exhilaration in the movement of his arms and felt some of her own. She had raced her own horse on the beaches at home, but there was something about the cold, foaming sea below and the wind that whipped her hair. She heard laughter, only to realize it was her own.

For a moment, there were only the two of them and the mare, and they were racing against the wind and the demons—both her own and his.

The gates of Inverleith opened as they raced forward and he did not slow until they reached the courtyard. She found herself leaning back against him, relishing the strength she felt there.

Then he dismounted, and lifted her down.

“You are a good rider, senorita.”

All the excitement suddenly faded.

He’d known she was a fraud. He had made her show it by riding with her. Without words, without accusation, he had exposed her ruse.

He hadn’t felt the same sensations, the few moments of what had seemed perfect unity.

She was furious with him and furious with herself. More importantly she was tired of being a pawn, first of her father, now of Patrick Maclean.

Juliana took control the only way she could manage. She hit him as hard as she could.

HE’D been struck many times in the past few years, and he’d sworn that no one would ever touch him again.

But then he’d never thought that person would be a woman.

It had been no womanly slap, but a full fledged blow to his chest, and so unexpected that it stunned him.

She looked as surprised as he felt.

He forced himself to look up at the other riders who’d reached them. His brother could scarcely control a smile. Felicia had a grin on her face.
An evil one,
he thought.

God’s blood but he was still reeling from the unwise ride to Inverleith. For a moment, he had forgotten everything but the pleasure of a woman’s body against his. He remembered how clumsy Juliana had looked when she’d approached the ship on horseback, but the moment the horse quickened his pace, he knew she was a natural rider and far more experienced than she wanted anyone to know.

He admired the spirit, the fact that she didn’t surrender. He was also appalled at his own behavior, that he had given in to that momentary need to race the short distance from the natural harbor to the point Inverleith dominated. That he had reveled in the sensation of her body against his. The self-disgust had caused him to step back quickly. Physically. Mentally.

He was only too aware that everyone in the courtyard still looked on, each trying to guess his next action. It would, he knew, dictate the future, whether he could take his place as laird.

If he even wanted it.

“Well delivered, lass,” he said. Then he added in a tone laced with humor, “There are a few better places if you wish to do damage.”

The tense moment dissolved into laughter.

Her face flushed, but her voice was controlled as she replied readily, “
Gracias.
I will remember that.”

“I fear that you might,” he returned.

Obviously trying to keep her dignity intact, she walked to the doors of the keep, Kimbra following her. Kimbra glared at Patrick, then went after her.

Rory dismounted and the two men headed toward the small alcove that served as an office.

Once there, they sat. “You have seen the cargo now,” Patrick said. “You agree then seventy pounds per man is fair?”

“Aye, but I am thinking you are missing the greatest treasure in that cargo,” Rory said.

Patrick understood only too well. “Now I know there are reasons other than the bloody curse to avoid marriage.”

“There are recompenses,” Rory retorted, the gleam in his eyes making his meaning clear.

“We have business,” Patrick replied shortly, cutting off any more talk of women and their frustrating ways.

Rory sighed. “The sum I suggested earlier is reasonable, and one we can afford. We have been hoarding gold to purchase another ship. We paid some as ransom for Lachlan but most has been replaced.”

“And that new ship you planned to purchase?”

“Once we sell the cargo, we will have enough to purchase it. Just a delay for mayhap a year.”

Patrick paced the office. He did not care for the fact that his brothers were not only risking money for him, but also their lives. He had not truly expected it. He had, in truth, thought to find resentment and obstacles. He still looked for both.

Betrayal could still happen. He’d had no say in Lachlan’s journey to Glasgow. His brother had simply left, and Patrick had only Rory’s word that he went to expedite the arrival of a ship. What if there had been another purpose?

“I want to take part of it and distribute it to the men before bringing them here. I want them to see it exists. They grow restless.”

“I thought as much.” Rory went to a closet built into the wall and unlocked it, then took out an iron box. He set it down on the table. A second key unlocked it, and Patrick saw piles of gold coins. Rory counted out a number and placed them in a leather pouch.

Then, unexpectedly, he handed the key to Patrick. “By rights, it should be yours.”

Patrick felt as if he had been hit again. For years, he had simply dreamt of freedom and secondly, of leading his clan back to glory. Of paying back the Campbells in blood for years of pain. Of exacting a price from his brothers for not paying a ransom and sentencing him to what should have been death.

Now he was being offered everything he thought he wanted, and he was no longer sure it
was
what he wanted. Despite his brothers’ welcome,’twas obvious he had no place here. The crofts appeared prosperous, the families healthy and happy and the cattle and sheep fat. Apparently peace had finally come to Inverleith. He could barely accept the truce with the Campbells, at least not yet, and after what he’d heard about Flodden Field, how could he do otherwise?

He should never have returned. He would only bring disaster down upon the Macleans.

He had come too far now, though. The
Sofia
must disappear in the middle of the sound where it could never be found and he must fulfill his promise to the men who helped him escape. Then he could disappear.

But what of Juliana Mendoza? As long as she lived, his entire clan would be endangered, as would the lives of the oarsmen.

He damned himself for ever coming here.

“Patrick?”

His attention went back to his brother. “I should never have involved you in this,” Patrick said.

“We involved ourselves,” Rory said. “It was a decision Lachlan and I would have made even were you not heir.”

“I am laird only if the clan approves,” Patrick said. “I am risking all their lives.”

“There is not a man who does not welcome you. They know the risks, but we have been a merchant clan a long time and often smugglers. The law means little to us. Bonny little Kimbra is a member of an English borderer family that robs as a way of life. Lachlan raided himself as he was healing from wounds.” He paused. “They remember you well, Patrick. Archibald told them of the fights you had with father on their behalf. It was a sad day when you left. I have been a substitute. I prefer trading to the land, and so does Lachlan. You are more part of these men than we can ever be.”

Patrick shook his head. “A good reason to leave. They would be giving loyalty to a shell.”

“A shell does not organize a revolt, Patrick, and God knows Queen Margaret and her wee son need men who can fight and advise her. Too many are using her for their own purposes. One group of advisors want peace with England. Another wants to continue a war, even though most of our bravest died at Flodden Field.”

“I do not like politics.”

“Neither did I. But I am good at it. If you stay, you can take care of Inverleith while I tend to politics at court.”

“And the lass.”

Rory shrugged. “Marry her.”

Patrick could only stare at him in disbelief.

“My wife tells me your Spanish lass was not happy about her forthcoming marriage. She is uncommonly bonny. Marry her.”

“As you probably noticed, she is not fond of me, even if I were to ever wed. I am not convinced, as you are, that the curse is gone. It has been only a few years.”

“The deaths always came within two years. Felicia and I have been together five.”

“I will not marry, Rory, particularly now that you and Lachlan have children and can continue the bloodline. So if that is your plan, I might as well disappear again and save you trouble.”

“I never believed you a coward,” Rory said softly.

“She would not have me, even if I were willing. She heard me kill her uncle.”

“Enough of this talk. Tonight we celebrate your return. Unfortunately, Lachlan will not be here to play his lute. In the morning we will bring your . . . crew to Inverleith until the
Felicia
arrives.”

“I remember that lute. It infuriated father.”

“It did until the day he died. He never understood nor appreciated Lachlan. To my shame, I did not, either. Not until I returned and discovered Lachlan probably had more courage than any of us. His were moral choices, not just a question of physical bravery. It took me a long time to understand that.”

“It is too dangerous,” Patrick said. “If anyone connects me with the
Sofia
. . .”

“Why would they?”

“’Tis possible.”

“You should make your case to Queen Margaret,” Rory said. “She should know that Spain is enslaving Scots. It would be far better than if she learned of it later.”

“I cannot risk that. You have already said she has those in court who wish better relations with England. My head would make a fine offering for the Chadwick family.”

“I have come to know the queen. She has honor.”

“But do those around her?”

“I will say naught of the ship, but she should know you are back,” Rory said. “We will invent some tale for now.” He paused, then added, “I think you should go with me.”

Patrick hesitated, then said, “I will think about it.”

“And the Spaniard?” Rory asked. “Is he leaving?”

Patrick shrugged. “I will not force him.”

“He could be dangerous.”

“He has as much to lose as any of us.”

Rory nodded, but Patrick knew the subject was not finished, that Rory sensed something about Diego that worried him.

“It should be no longer than another five or six days before the ship arrives, but that depends on whether goods had already been loaded for the next voyage. If so, they had to be unloaded. I do not think either of us wants a valuable cargo aboard when the
Felicia
leaves with its new cargo of oarsmen.”

“Most are honest men.”

“Aye, but we have to consider the others who may not be.”

Patrick knew he was right. He had just taken most of the clan’s wealth to help the oarsmen. The Macleans would probably recover some or all when the cargo was sold. But in the meantime Rory was risking much.

“Do not forget the feast tonight,” Rory warned him. “Our people have been planning this since you first arrived.”

“I will,” he promised, wishing he could avoid it. He had done nothing heroic. And now he was planning to leave again. He would do as Rory asked and visit the queen, because it was the only thing he could now do for Inverleith. After that? He did not know where he would go. What he would do. But he was the stranger here. He created danger just by being here.