Read Highland Surrender Online
Authors: Dawn Halliday
Highland Surrender (12 page)
He could be wrong. Yet one very influential and respected man remained the earl’s steadfast friend: Alan MacDonald. Without Alan, Cam would be long dead by now. Rob wondered if the earl knew it. Rob doubted even Alan was aware of the extent of his influence.
“And now he’s brought that damnable Sassenach wench . . . Hell, he’s a damned fool if he thinks we’ll simper to that bitch.”
Remembering Elizabeth’s rushed apology, Rob stiffened. He wasn’t going to discuss Lady Elizabeth with Bram, or anyone.
He couldn’t think of her. Not now. Not tonight. God knew he’d thought of her enough last night. Thought of her as he’d stroked himself to a groaning orgasm, imagining his cock sliding through her sweet, hot English flesh. Imagined her pink lips parted in ecstasy; his own lips possessing them.
Christ, it was bloody torture thinking of her. He had to stop.
Bram was talking—about Elizabeth’s silk and lace, and how her dresses alone could feed the poor on the earl’s land through the winter months. God knew the man was right, but all Rob could imagine was sliding that silk off her body.
Thrusting away the carnal images, he forced his attention back to Bram. “Don’t judge until you are certain. They’ve only just arrived. Before you say or do anything, be sure it is the wisest course.”
Bram made a scoffing noise, and Rob had the sinking feeling his warnings might come too late.
Dinner the following evening was a decidedly awkward affair. No one felt at ease, besides, perhaps, the grouse and salmon set on the table. Rob sat straight in his chair, his torso stiff, and ate uncomfortably from his silver spoon.
The earl, pale faced from the ordeal of descending the stairs, sat at the head of the grand table, and the remainder of the party sat at the end nearest him, for if anyone were seated at the opposite end, he’d have to shout down the length of the table in order to be heard.
Elizabeth, dressed in a cream satin that Rob’s fingers itched to touch, sat at the earl’s left and the Duke of Irvington at his right. Ceana sat beside Elizabeth, and Rob sat beside the duke, facing both women.
Each time Rob looked up, he met either the solid gray-blue stare of Ceana or the crystalline blue of Elizabeth’s skittering gaze. It was as if the English lady didn’t want to be caught looking at him, yet felt compelled to do so. As he did her. His gaze was drawn to her again and again, and he discreetly absorbed her every feature and her every move. Her narrow waist emphasized by the taper of her bodice, the straight lines of her back and shoulders, the creamy flesh over her collarbones, the curling wisps of blond hair drifting over her shoulders.
Ceana remained mostly silent, but her shrewd gaze took in everything. Including Rob’s constant assessment of Lady Elizabeth; of that Rob had no doubt. He ought to feel guilty, perhaps, but his pride still smarted from her rejection. Still, he had no wish to taunt her. Not to mention the foolhardiness of continuing to allow carnal thoughts of Lady Elizabeth to wander into his mind.
“MacLean.”
Rob’s attention snapped to the earl. Ceana had wrapped the man’s shoulder in a bulky bandage. A regal velvet dinner coat was draped over his shoulders, and the long fingers of his good hand tapped his wineglass as he regarded Rob with a steady gaze.
“What do you make of the attack on our party?”
“Disturbing,” Rob answered truthfully.
“Have such random attacks become common since my departure from the Glen last year?”
Rob and Ceana exchanged a glance. Ceana spoke first. “No, they haven’t. I haven’t heard of any similar crime since I arrived at the Glen.”
Elizabeth patted her silk napkin to her lips and demurely gazed at her lap, hands folded. What an innocent she tried to appear in mixed company. Rob had seen a very different side of her on the ride down to the castle. There was a scorching-hot fire inside her, sparkling and blue, like her eyes.
She was a study in contrasts, in fire and ice, in delicacy and strength, in refinement and impropriety. He craved to know her, to understand what instigated these odd disparities in her behavior.
“How unfortunate to arrive at one’s home at the same time villains choose to infiltrate the area,” the duke said on a shudder. He dragged his napkin over the greasy remnants of grouse on his chin, then deposited a forkful of meat into his mouth.
Cam’s gaze never left Rob. “The populace of the Glen was aware I was returning home that day, correct?”
“Aye,” Rob said.
“Do you believe it was a random attack, or was it planned?”
Rob hesitated, then said, “What do
you
think, milord?”
you
think, milord?”
Cam lifted the glass to his lips and drank. Lowering the crystal, he gazed at Rob over the rim. “They weren’t after the riches from our luggage. If that were the case, they’d have focused the attack on the carriages.”
Again, the man beside Rob shuddered. “Lord above. I’d heard about the wilds of the Highlands, but little did I know I’d risked my very life by visiting here!”
“I wouldn’t have allowed any harm to come to you,” Cam said, his voice hard. “Nor Elizabeth. Please trust I would have kept you safe.”
That earned Cam a gracious smile from Elizabeth, a smile that made Rob desperate to be awarded one of his own. Hell, haughty and spoiled as she was, she was the most alluring, engaging, confusing woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
He glanced at Ceana, who studied him with her observant gaze, her face devoid of expression. She was beautiful too, but in an opposite way. Where Elizabeth was refined and contained, Ceana was wild and free.
He still wanted Ceana, despite her less-than-gentle set-down of the other day.
Was it possible to want two women at once? He glanced from one to the other. Apparently so, he thought uncomfortably. Nevertheless, Ceana had refused him, and Elizabeth was as unattainable as the Virgin Mary.
“Of course you would have kept us safe, Lord Camdonn.” The duke nodded vigorously. “Of course.”
“But those men—they weren’t after our riches. They were after me.”
A stillness settled over the room. The people at the table took on the quality of the footmen standing silently in the shadows. They all sat staring at Cam.
After a long moment of silence, Rob cleared his throat. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. Yes, I believe I am.”
“Well,” Ceana said in her no-nonsense way. Earlier tonight, it had come as no small surprise when she’d opened her mouth and Rob heard her speak English for the first time. She was quite fluent, too. It struck him that Ceana had experienced a more varied past than she’d led anyone to believe. “Seems they’re unhappier with you than you suspected.”
“What’s this?” asked the duke, his pale eyes narrowed.
“The people of the Glen are heavily in favor of King James,” Ceana explained.
The duke scoffed. “The Jacobites surrendered to the government months ago, and the Pretender is languishing in France.”
“Aye, but that does not mean the desire to have him on the throne no longer exists.” Ceana gestured toward Cam. “So, you see, to many, our earl represents the enemy.”
“Their defeat was final.” The duke grunted. “Seems to me that the poor and illiterate masses are unable to comprehend the meaning of surrender.”
Rob remained silent. The man possessed no understanding of the Highlands, yet Rob had no desire to enlighten him. It wouldn’t be worth the effort.
Elizabeth sat quietly, a prim expression on her face, but she watched everyone with interest, and Rob could almost see the wheels churning in her head. She might be an impulsive Sassenach, but she was no fool. A fact that would benefit her if she truly planned to make a life here.
Ceana—Ceana the intrepid, Rob thought—did respond to the duke’s statement, her tone mild. “Ah, but there you’re mistaken, Your Grace. Surrender is an understandable concept, but many have refused to concede defeat. The uprising might be delayed for a time, but it isn’t over. Not yet.”
The duke snorted dismissively. “The Jacobites are too weak to rise again.”
“Perhaps not soon, but Highlanders don’t forget easily.”
The duke raised his brows at Cam as if to express astonishment at the woman’s gall in engaging in a political discussion with a duke of England. Cam missed the implication, however—he remained focused on Ceana. “Why do they persist in viewing me as the enemy?”
“To many of them, you are naught but a Presbyterian English Whig,” Ceana said.
“As he well should be,” the duke muttered.
Cam looked thoughtful, and despite Rob’s silence, the earl addressed him again. “Do you have any idea who might’ve been behind the attack, MacLean?”
“No.” Rob sincerely hoped Bram MacGregor hadn’t been behind it—that it hadn’t been instigated by one of the earl’s own people.
“I’d like you to keep your eyes and ears open, then,” Cam said. “If you learn anything, report it to me immediately.”
“Aye, sir,” Rob said mildly. Though he had no desire to come between the earl and the Jacobites, should it come to that. Ultimately, he reminded himself, he didn’t know the earl or his motives. Cam had been more absent than present, and perhaps it was solely in hopeful optimism that Rob had already judged him innocent.
“In the meantime,” Cam continued, “Elizabeth and I shall do our best to ingratiate ourselves to our tenants.”
“You must continue to take advantage of your friendship with the MacDonald laird,” Ceana said.
Cam slid his finger around the top rim of his wineglass and shook his head. “No. I must do this alone.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “With the help of my betrothed. What say you, Elizabeth?”
“As you wish, my lord,” she murmured.
After midnight, the door clicked shut as Bitsy left her for the night, and finally,
finally
, Elizabeth was free. She leaped out of bed and threw her cloak over her shoulders. Pulling the edges tight, she grabbed her candle, slid behind the tapestry, opened the door, and descended the spiraling stone staircase.
finally
, Elizabeth was free. She leaped out of bed and threw her cloak over her shoulders. Pulling the edges tight, she grabbed her candle, slid behind the tapestry, opened the door, and descended the spiraling stone staircase.
When her feet touched the dirt under the bottom step, she tiptoed forward and listened at the door. No sound emerged from the room beyond, for most of the castle occupants were abed by now.
She shoved hard at the bolt preventing the door from opening from the other side, and the corroded metal finally gave way. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the equally rusty handle and turned it. The handle squealed and the hinges groaned in complaint as she forced the door open and peeked out as the smells of onions, ashes, and salted meat rushed into the stale air of the stairway.
The vast ground-floor room contained a massive cooking stove, rows of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, a hearth big enough for a man to sleep in, and several tables piled with kitchen implements and foods in varying states of freshness. She tiptoed past the cold ovens and the brimming shelves and into the next room, the servants’ dining room.
She passed the long, rough-hewn table and opened the door on the opposite end of the room. A brush of cool outside air raised chill bumps across her flesh and blew out her candle. The lack of candlelight didn’t matter—there was enough moonlight for her to find her way. She set the candle down near the door and stepped outside, pulling her cloak close around her body.
It was quiet tonight. Watchful eyes continually roamed the castle grounds, but the courtyard between the stables and the main building was shrouded in shadows, and unless someone stood within a few feet of her, Elizabeth wouldn’t be seen.
On impulse, she lifted her skirts and sprinted across the graveled clearing, her slippers soundless as she flew over the rocks.
When she reached the closed door of the stables she slowed and walked around to the side door, which was propped open to allow the fresh spring air to circulate through the building.
She slipped inside. Animals rustled in their stalls, but otherwise all was silent. Immediately to her left were the stone stairs that led to the upper story of the complex—the stable master’s apartment. Staring at the steps, Elizabeth chewed on her lip for a long moment.
She knew what was up there. Or rather,
who
was up there.
who
was up there.
Before she could take too much time to think about the ramifications of what she did, she gathered her skirts and tiptoed up the stairs.
Halfway up, she heard a gasp. Tilting her head, she paused to listen.
“Rob . . .”
Elizabeth blinked hard. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was Ceana MacNab’s voice.
Rob gave a one-word answer—a Gaelic word Elizabeth didn’t understand. Rob’s voice had that edge of roughness she’d heard in it when Elizabeth had first met him—that edge that made her spine tingle as if a hundred feathers stroked it.
Slowly, she took another step up, and then another. Neither Rob nor Ceana spoke again. Now all Elizabeth could hear was their breathing, heavier than usual. Her mouth went dry. She dropped her skirts and continued up the stairs until her head was level with the passageway on the second level of the stables. She raised her gaze to the landing.
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