In the Highlander's Bed (13 page)

“Fetch Brian,” he said to Thomas. “I’m going to use your quarters to write the letter to Colster.”

Thomas nodded for Grace to leave and then did as Gordon had ordered.

The giant’s tent was as sparsely furnished as his own, although Thomas’s table and chairs were of better quality and he did have a cot. Gordon preferred to sleep on the ground because that was how most of his men slept.

He set aside his weapons, removing the pistols from his waistband and the sword at his waist, lit a candle and opened his writing case, removing paper, ink, and quills. The tip of his quills were dull. A sound at the door made him look up.

Grace stood there, her arms crossed, a hip cocked back in resentment. “Must you interfere every time I’m with Thomas, Gordon?” she demanded.

He began sharpening the quills with a knife from his case. This wasn’t a discussion he wanted. She’d not thank him for it.

“Answer me,” she ordered. “Or am I not even good enough to talk to?”

Gordon set his penknife aside. “Why are you in the business you are in, Grace?” he asked, answering her question with his own. “You have beauty, brains, your health. Why whore? And whyhere ?” he asked quietly.

She straightened. “Why are any of us here, Gordon?”

“I know why I am here, Grace. Do you?” He sat at the table. “Use your brains, lass. There is more to
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life than laying with men. You’ll never receive any satisfaction from the likes of Thomas. He’s a good fighter but he’ll never be faithful.”

He’d struck a nerve. “I don’t want a faithful man.” She’d uncrossed her arms, her hands curled into fists, which she hid in the folds of her skirt. “If there is such a thing. Look at your sister, Gordon. She played right and good and what does she have to show for it? What future does she have? At leastI choose who I sleep with and am paid well for my efforts.”

Gordon went still. There had been a time when his sister was the delight of the countryside. A laughing, beautiful, frivolous young woman with a line of suitors out the door.

But then, after the rebellion at Nathraichean was discovered, English soldiers went to Dougal MacLeod’s house, where Fiona had been living since their father’s murder. The English kept her in prison for a week at Fort William before tossing her out into the street like a stray when they were done.

Gordon had arrived in time to bring her to the clan…but laughter was gone from her.

Now, Fiona wore black, never smiled, and spoke only when necessary, even to him—or should he say, especially to him? She wouldn’t even live with him, choosing instead to have her own tent where she kept herself separate from the others.

He leaned toward Grace. “Has she talked to you? Has she said what happened at Fort William?”

Grace shook her head, her mouth twisting with cynicism. “She doesn’t have to tell me anything. The truth is there in the way she holds herself. Can’t you see it? Or are you, like everyone else, pretending ignorance?”

Before he could respond, Thomas returned, with Brian at his heels. The giant looked at his woman and Gordon, a frown forming between his eyes. “Grace, I’d not thought you’d still be here.”

She shrugged. “I was leaving.”

“Aye, go then,” Thomas said.

The woman did. After she left, Thomas turned back to Gordon. “Was she wanting you?” he asked.

Gordon frowned, surprised by the question. “You know I have other matters on my mind.”

“I want her just the way she is. Don’t be giving her any of your lectures, Gordon. Don’t interfere.”

“I won’t. I haven’t.” Gordon held up his hands to show he held no tricks.

“Yes, right,” Thomas said, his doubt clear on his face. He turned and stomped out of the tent.

Gordon couldn’t hide his frustration. “I wish that woman would leave,” he said to Brian.

“She has him whipped,” the younger man agreed.

“Does she know it?”

Brian rolled his eyes. “What woman doesn’t?”

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Gordon shook his head, clearing his mind of the matter. He had no time for Thomas’s love life. “Let me write this letter,” he said, turning his attention to the task at hand.

He knew what he wanted to say and did so in straightforward language. He and Colster knew each other. At one time the duke had been a member of the clan, until Colster betrayed them by taking the Sword of the MacKenna.

Gordon sanded and sealed the ransom note. “Deliver this but don’t wait for an answer,” he told Brian. “I wrote instructions on how he should send word to make the exchange, and I’ve given him one week from receipt of the letter to do so. You won’t have time to linger, and don’t trust anyone.”

“Yes, Gordon.”

“Now ride, and ride fast.” He tossed the money purse to Brian. “I expect you to return in five days’

time. That’s hard riding. Take only the freshest horses. If you are not back, I shall worry.”

A grin split Brian’s face. “You needn’t worry.” He bowed and left.

Gordon was tired and ready for his bed. Outside, he saw Thomas, who had found Grace…or perhaps Grace had found him. As the second in command, Thomas wielded a good amount of power in the clan.

Grace would keep her eye on that. They stood by the fire in furious conversation.

Nodding a good night, Gordon would have walked past, but Thomas stopped him. “What if the duke doesn’t give you the sword?” he asked soberly.

“He’ll give it to me,” Gordon answered.

“But if he doesn’t?” Thomas pressed.

“Then we won’t return Constance Cameron,” Gordon said.

Thomas’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, “And what will you do with her?” He shook his head. “You lack the ice in your veins to deal with such a matter.”

“But you don’t,” Gordon answered.

“No, I don’t,” the giant said, satisfied.

“Then I shall hope Colster gives us the sword.”

Before he could be pinned down further, Gordon moved on.

When he’d conceived the kidnapping plan, it seemed simple. Now he knew kidnapping was a dirty game. And for a moment he was thankful that Constance wasn’t some shy, fearful debutante. She would recover from this—and Colsterwould give him the sword. There was no alternative.

Darkness had fallen. Cooking fires dotted the camp as each family, each group, prepared their own meals.

A footfall sounded behind him. He turned, and was surprised when Fiona fell into step beside him.

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“You aren’t going to hurt the English girl, are you?”

Gordon stopped. His voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard, he said, “Fiona, I’m tired and more than slightly irritated that you would ask such a question.”

“Are you?” she repeated.

“What do you think the answer is?” he asked, looking straight into her eyes. Her gaze slid away from his, and it bloody well hurt. She was all the family he had left.

And, yes, Grace was right. He did have an idea about what happened to her at Fort William. He believed she’d been raped. After all, the soldiers had committed the crime against other women. Why should his sister be spared?

Perhaps the time had come to talk about it.

“Please, Fiona, I know what the English did. I know it wasn’t good. But the rest of us are not likethem .

You must be strong.”

Her face grew set in a frown. She stared at a point beyond his shoulder. “Strong?” She pulled her tartan closer around her. “Iam strong. I’m still alive.” Tension radiated from her body.

“I hate that they hurt you,” he whispered. “I despise myself that I wasn’t there to protect you. It’s me they wanted, Fee, not you.”

“I know,” she agreed as if speaking to a simpleton. “I had nothing to do with this.” She made a short sweep of her hand, indicating the camp, the followers, the rebellion. “You ruined my life, Gordon. They thought to draw you out, just asyou wish to use the English lass to receive what you want.” There was a beat of silence, and then she looked at him. “Let her go, Gordon.Now , before any harm comes to her.”

“No harm will come to her.I’m not like them,” he repeated, clipping each word.

“Youare ,” she countered. “You are a man. You can’t help yourself.”

“Fiona,” he protested, but she whirled away from him, hurrying back in the direction she’d come. The expression on her face had been as distrustful as Grace’s.

If he ever discovered the name of the man who’d done this to her, Gordon vowed, he’d kill him.

As it was, his sister would have nothing to do with him now.

Continuing to his tent, Gordon discovered that someone had left his tack, the moccasin Constance had lost during her battle with the Bitch, and a pot of stew outside the front flap. That was usually how he ate.

He knew that the women of the camp had done this for him.

He pushed aside the leather flap and carried the pot inside, expecting to step over Tad guarding the door.

The dog wasn’t there.

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Instead, over by the chair, Tad, his loyal and most trusted companion, lay on his back at Constance’s feet, his tongue lolling in ecstasy as she rubbed his belly.

Nine

“Tad,” Gordon snapped.

The dog flipped over as if stunned to be caught and scrambled to his feet. He cowered, certain he was in trouble.

And he was.

Gordon snapped his fingers, pointing to his side. Tad slinked over to him, but actually had the audacity to give Constance a look of regret.

“A minute more and I would have been gone,” Constance said confidently. Her braid was over one shoulder and, dressed as she was in the dancing gown of the night before and her bare feet, she looked for all the world like a renegade debutante.

“He’s a bloody traitor,” Gordon grumbled. He put the stew on the table before bringing in his saddle and her moccasin. He tossed the shoe into her lap, realizing his lamp had been lit. “Was someone here?”

She shook her head. “Why…?” and then answered her own question by following his gaze to the lantern. “You didn’t expect me to sit in the dark, did you?”

He hadn’t expected to be gone so long. But it was a sign of Constance’s resourcefulness that she had made herself completely at home. “I’m glad I took my weapons with me.”

Constance smiled her response, and Gordon knew he’d best be on his guard. “Are you going to tie me up again?” she wondered, reading his mind.

“I’ll truss you up like a deer if you give me good cause,” he assured her. To his surprise, she laughed, completely without fear. He knew she didn’t doubt his words. It was just that she had courage.

Whatever life gave her, she’d make the best of it.

He wished his sister had even a touch of Constance’s spirit.

He pulled three china plates and two spoons from his tack chest. The plates were pieces of a set his father had owned. He ladled the stew into one and set it down for the dog, saying, “Here. Don’t forget whose side you are on.”

Tad dove into his food without remorse.

Gordon ladled two more plates and offered one to Constance. She took it, helping herself to a spoon and attacking her stew with enthusiasm. He had been just as hungry…except his appetite disappeared at the sight of the cleavage she displayed as she bent over her food.

Her ball gown had not been fashioned for travel. For most of the trip, she’d worn his tartan. Now, he couldn’t help but notice the swell of breast over the lace at her bodice, the hollow at the base of her throat, the way she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips as she savored the stew.

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Perhaps Fiona was right. Perhaps they shouldn’t be alone—

“It’s good,” she said. “You should eat…” Her voice died off as she realized he was staring.

Gordon looked away, embarrassed to have been caught gaping like a schoolboy.

Thomas would have laughed.

He sat on the ground next to Tad and focused on his own plate, all too aware of the moments when her gaze had drifted toward him. He’d thought he was bone tired, but suddenly parts of him were wide-awake. He shifted, not wanting her to notice, silently cursing his male nature,and her female one.

They ate in silence. When he finished, he gave the plate to Tad to clean off. Constance made a horrified sound.

“Please don’t tell me you clean all your plates that way?” she said.

Gordon frowned. “I wash them.” He could have added,Sometimes, but thought it best to keep that to himself.

She curled her lip in disgust. “I suppose men don’t worry about those things.”

“We do.”

The lift of her eyebrow said she didn’t believe him.

A moment of silence stretched between them. From his position on the ground, he couldn’t help but notice how trim her ankles were. He liked slender legs, and he already knew she was muscular and strong—

She cleared her throat. “I need a private moment.”

It stood to reason. It had been a while. And the fresh night air would cool overheated thoughts. “Come along, then.”

Darkness had completely fallen. The moon was full and golden. A good number of people had already gone to bed.

This was usually his favorite time of night. He walked her toward the latrines. “Here,” he said at the door to one of the privies.

Constance held back. “This place doesn’t smell good.”

That was an understatement. A party of men, all too old to fight, were responsible for the latrines and other areas of the camp. He’d noticed that they had been slack in their responsibilities. He didn’t want to admit that to her. “Consider what it is and be happy we have one,” he said. “Go on, Constance, see to your business.”

The corners of her mouth turned down, the expression almost comical. Gingerly, she went inside. He stood guard.