Beloved Warrior (29 page)

“What will happen to us, senorita?” Juliana’s thoughts were echoed by Carmita’s words in Spanish.

“I do not know.”

“Will they take us away?”

Juliana could only repeat her previous answer.

“Manuel said he wishes to go where we go.”

Juliana looked sharply at Carmita. There was a smile on her maid’s face.

“Has he said anything about his life?” she asked, truly curious.

“He believes he has fourteen years, but he does not know. He had no mother or father. He grew up in the streets of Madrid.”

Manuel was small in size, but Juliana knew he was much older in other ways. Carmita was sixteen. The two had been nearly inseparable since they arrived, except when their duties required them elsewhere.

“I like it here,” Carmita continued, a thoughtful look on her face. “They are kind, and the Maclean has promised Manuel he would teach him English. Manuel will teach me. And I am learning to cook in the kitchen. The servants are not like those in Spain who feared someone may take their place.”

“I truly do not know what the Maclean has planned,” Juliana said. “I know he will try to see us safe.”

“And your marriage . . . ?”

Her marriage. Her blood turned icy when she thought of it. She was no longer the virgin that was promised. After the last few weeks, neither would she be the meek maiden. She had fought for her life, and she would continue to do so.

She would also fight for the Maclean.

The latter thought startled her but she knew it was truth. She would do battle on his behalf. She thought of her uncle lying dead in the passageway, but she truly could not summon regret. After seeing the rowing deck, she had only contempt for him. And her father.

But her mother . . .

“Senorita?”

Juliana brought herself back from her thoughts of Patrick. “I do not know what the future holds, but I will make sure you are safe,” she said. Patrick Maclean had to grant her that boon at least.

Carmita finished brushing her hair, and Juliana stood in the night shift she wore.

The map,
Juliana reminded herself. Or perhaps it was just something to focus on, so she could avoid all the feelings roiling around inside.

“Help me dress again,” she told Carmita. “The gray gown.”

Carmita’s eyes worried. “It is late, senorita. He will probably be abed.”

But Juliana was restless, and mayhap Patrick was with his brother. She was not sure whether he planned to sail with the remaining crew members to wherever they would go. She did not know where she belonged in his mind, in his heart. She had to know.

“Carmita,” she said with unusual sternness.

“Si,”
Carmita said. “I will go with you.”

“No. I will not be long.”

Carmita did not look pleased, but she found the gray gown in the trunk. “Your hair?” she said. “It is down.”

And so it was. But now that she had an objective in mind, she did not want to wait. She did not worry about someone outside watching her. She had the run of Inverleith as long as she stayed inside the walls, and she doubted she could get outside if she wanted. Every man or woman coming to or leaving the keep was stopped.

In a matter of minutes, she was ready to go. Unwilling to spend the long time necessary to pin her hair, she merely put a cap on the top of her head and allowed the curls to tumble down.

“I will not need you again tonight,” she said. “I can undo the ties on my gown.” She paused, then said, “You do not have to work here in the kitchen.”

“But I wish to, senorita. I am learning to cook.”

“You do not like being my maid?”

Carmita flushed. “Oh
si
, senorita, but if they do not like me where we go . . .”

“It does not matter what someone else likes or does not like. As long as you wish, you will be with me.” She truly hoped she could fulfill that promise.

Juliana left the room. The corridor was empty. Patrick’s chamber, she knew, was to the left, just past the stone stairs. Rory’s was beyond his brother’s.

She tucked a curl behind her ear, tried to affect an air of indifference for everything except the map and walked to Rory’s door. She knocked on the heavy wood.

No answer.

Perhaps he was with his brother. She returned to Patrick’s room. She thought about knocking, but mayhap he had gone asleep and she did not want to wake him.
An excuse.
She recognized it, but nonetheless she could not help herself. She turned the handle and it opened slightly. Then she heard the voices.

She should close it again, or announce her presence, but the words seared themselves in her mind.

“Tell me more about the viscount,” she heard Patrick ask. Her heart began to thud as she continued to listen through the crack. Then finally, Patrick’s voice: “We would be risking the entire clan.”

He was willing to risk that for her. That and his brothers’ lives.

She was not.

She closed the door softly and turned, dashing toward the nearby steps and skipping down them. She was not ready to face Carmita again tonight.

Figures slept on the floor of the great hall. The torches cast shadows over their forms. Several snored. She heard one groan. Someone remembering the horror of the galley?

She opened the main door of the keep and slipped outside. The moon was full, and bright, though it ducked in and out of clouds. In a few days it would be but a thin slice and the night would be dark. She paused and looked around. Several fires were lit in the courtyard, and Macleans walked the outer wall. The great gate was closed.

How could she leave? She had been allowed to go anywhere within the walls, but it had been made very clear she was not permitted outside the gate. She was trapped inside as surely as she had been locked in a prison cell. How had Felicia escaped when she was held prisoner?

Juliana planned to find out on the morrow.

She went inside the stable. One lantern was lit inside, and a sleepy-eyed Fergus blinked when she entered.

“Miss,” he said. “I did not expect anyone this late.”

“I could not sleep, Fergus, and decided to visit the horses.”

He nodded, but his eyes were watchful. Obviously he had been told to be courteous but cautious.

She went to the mare she’d been riding. Duchess. The mare nickered lightly and nuzzled her for a treat. She wished she had one, but instead promised she would bring one tomorrow.

Another mare raised her head and nickered lightly as a foal nursed.

“She is beautiful.”

“Aye,” Fergus replied. He was staying at her side. Patrick’s orders?

“They all are.”

“The laird takes great pride in his horses, he does,” Fergus said. “All Macleans do. They say even the auld laird took care of his horses proper.”

“Do Felicia and Kimbra ride much?”

“Felicia not so often now with the bairns. Kimbra rides nearly every day on the big black gelding. She is a foine rider.”

The informality between the laird, his family and his servants constantly amazed her. It was similar to that between Patrick and the oarsmen. There seemed no resentment, or superiority, on either side, only a commonality her father would despise.

She turned her attention back to Fergus, who was still extolling Kimbra’s riding skills. “She brought the stallion from the border. Few others can ride the beast.”

Her mind was running ahead of itself. Would Felicia tell her how to escape? Would Kimbra help her? Probably not.

She had a thought that had been nagging at her for several days. There had to be a way to leave Inverleith and prevent any more damage to Patrick and the Maclean family. She owed him that. Her family had taken years from him, and unjustly. She could not live with herself if she were responsible for more grief.

The foal finished nursing. The mare came over and Juliana stroked the soft muzzle. The horse nipped, but Juliana knew horses well enough to understand it was a gesture of companionship rather than hostility.

She leaned over the gate and couldn’t stop the tears welling behind her eyes. She missed her own horse, Joya, terribly. Still, she wanted to stay here. She wanted to be part of this family where husbands loved their wives, where children played and warmth filled the stone walls.

None of it was possible. She would only bring destruction down on Inverleith.

Juliana knew it would be far harder to accept the marriage with a man her mother feared, and the Campbell despised, now that she knew life could be different. That there was love and respect and warmth between people, not just cold, cynical bargaining with lives.

Still, she knew what she had to do. She had to save Patrick from his own folly in protecting her.

She wiped away the tears with her hand and vowed there would be no more of them.

PATRICK rose later than usual. Sleep had eluded him most of the night and when it did come, it was troubled. He couldn’t stop thinking of Juliana, the way she felt and looked and tasted yesterday. He still burned with want. Och, but he had been tempted time and time again to take the few steps to her chamber.

She was close; too close.

But the conversation last night had convinced him he had to keep his wits about him, and he could not do that with her. Nor could he leave her with child, not knowing her future. He despised himself for the lack of discipline, something on which he’d always prided himself.

After the meeting last night, Patrick returned to his own chamber, then looked out his window down in the courtyard. He saw Juliana leave the stable, her slight, graceful figure unmistakable. Her head was bowed against the night wind.

Her head was never bowed, not for anyone. How he’d wanted to go to her chamber, to warm her body with his. Then she entered the doors to the great hall. He imagined he heard her steps pause, then pass his door.

He now knew the true meaning of temptation.

Patrick knew he had to control it. He looked down over the sound below the walls.

When would Lachlan return?

Even if it was on the morn, which he fervently hoped, he still had not found a solution to Juliana. He blinked as he saw distant sails on the sound. He continued to watch as they neared. He heard the shout from the walls, a collective cheer from those fellow oarsmen who had preferred the courtyard to the great hall to sleep.

Patrick understood their immediate reaction. They wanted to go home. The Moors, he knew, were not used to the cold Scottish nights and frequent mists. The Spaniards were worried about being discovered here, and the others merely wanted to return to their own countries and disappear.

Relief surged through him as well. It had been dangerous having them here. A visitor would have been disastrous. After the Campbell’s unexpected arrival, he and Rory had decided to meet any other visitor with the information that there was fever inside.

But by tonight, he hoped all would be aboard and sailing east. The only danger then would be an interception on the seas, but Rory had assured him that the ship—the
Felicia
—had a fine captain.

Mixed with relief, though, was the realization he would miss some of the oarsmen. They had suffered together, fought together, triumphed together, then shared the harrowing voyage to Inverleith. He would not easily forget many of them.

Would the Spaniard go with them? He had made himself at home at Inverleith. Despite his nationality, Patrick saw that the clansmen had taken to him. Diego had, in fact, instructed several in the art of swordsmanship. Manuel had already indicated he wished to stay with Juliana and Carmita, and Patrick trusted Manuel. He already had, with his life. He was still not as sure about Diego. Still, he would not force him to leave. And then there was Denny, who had no place to go.

Much to do today, and decisions must be made. He ran his fingers through his hair, splashed some water on his face and left his room.

He went past the stone steps and stopped at Juliana’s chamber. He rapped on the door, but there was no answer. He entered to find it empty. A lingering smell of roses remained, though.

Reluctantly, he left and went to the great hall, where platters of food were arranged on the table, but he had no hunger. His stomach had become used to very little.

Though the table was filled with his fellow oarsmen, Juliana was not there. Then he saw Carmita, who frowned darkly at him.

“Where is Juliana?” he asked.

“She is in Lachlan’s room,” Carmita said with obvious reluctance. Accusation was in her eyes.

“My thanks,” he said softly.

“I do not need your thanks,” Carmita said sharply. “My senorita and I are your prisoners.”

Her words startled him. She had always seemed meek. She was a bonny little thing with the dark hair and eyes of Spain, but she was young and had been obviously frightened. More than frightened. Terrified.

Now, however, she was evidently ready to do battle on behalf of her mistress. Juliana would need that kind of friend.

 
“DENNY, this is London. It is one of the largest cities in the world,” Juliana said.

She and Kimbra and Denny sat at a table with the map she’d obtained from Rory spread across the table’s surface. This morning she had gone to Rory, explaining exactly why she needed it.

“Tell me if something looks familiar,” she said. “Just nod your head.”

His eyes told her he understood. How much, she was not sure, but at times she thought he was far more aware of events than anyone knew.

He seemed to have an almost fanatical devotion to Patrick. He obviously worried when Patrick was away from the keep. It appeared that Patrick was the only one Denny trusted.

Almost as if summoned by her thoughts, Patrick appeared in the doorway.