Susan Johnson (16 page)

Surrounded by his cousins, Robbie maintained the position at the ford, counting the Campbells as they passed, Argyll with the center slowly moving toward the crossing. Impatient for the skirmish to engage, ready to strike, Robbie could barely contain his urgency. Dammit, hurry, he silently ordered.

After what seemed like an eternity, Argyll finally reached the ford. Robbie’s gloved hand went up in signal, the gesture passing down the ranks in the darkness, each man watching the man beside him.

When Argyll reached the midpoint of the shallows, Robbie’s hand slashed downward, he spurred his horse, and the Carre battle cry exploded into the
night. A hundred reivers, screaming for blood, their guns blazing, swept down on the Campbells, galloping out of the blackness like fiends from hell.

Argyll’s men barely had time to wheel and meet their attackers. Some pushed their horses to a gallop and bolted; those caught in the ford fought to keep their mounts in hand in the soft streambed. The forward ranks were cut off, most of the rear guard in flight, isolating Argyll and his guard, the clash of swords replacing the initial barrage of gunfire, the melee a scene of slaughter and confusion. Argyll’s guard put up a stout resistance, but the Carres recklessly slashed their way through, intent on taking their prize. The first line of defenders fell, fatally wounded, and then the second line was scythed away, the contest not only a personal vendetta between Carre and Campbell, but an age-old rivalry between Lowlander and Highlander.

Argyll and his bodyguard were soon overwhelmed. Robbie was at the center of the bloody combat, and when at last his sword was poised at John Campbell’s throat, a sudden silence fell. “Call your men off or I’ll kill you,” Robbie brusquely ordered.

Argyll understood when a battle was lost, and understood as well that no woman was worth dying for. He quickly had his trumpeter call retreat.

“Now tell your troops they’d best be back to Edinburgh,” Robbie commanded.

Argyll complied.

“There’s a sensible man,” Robbie noted, restoring his sword to its scabbard.

Still mounted, the two men looked at each other at close range, the queen’s commissioner furious beneath
his feigned calm. “While You’re not sensible at all,” Argyll coldly replied. “You could have had your lands back without this unnecessary exertion and that musket wound. The queen is always ready to forgive a supporter.”

“I don’t want the queen’s forgiveness,” Robbie said. “You’re a principled fool.”

“We can’t all be politicians.” Taking a bandage from one of his men, Robbie began wrapping it around his reinjured right arm, his jacket sleeve torn open by a grazing musket ball, the damaged flesh beneath ragged and bloody.

“I can see that your lawsuit is tied up indefinitely in the courts,” Argyll threatened. “You should have considered that before you attacked me.”

“And you might consider the thought of your pompous ass incarcerated in a well-concealed prison until such a time as I have what I want,” Robbie countered, tying a tight knot on his makeshift dressing, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain.

Argyll was an intelligent man; he knew there were dungeons in Scotland where a man could be lost forever. “What do you want?”

Robbie looked up, his gaze bland. “Just what’s mine. I’m not greedy.”

“And if you have it, what then?”

“Then you won’t have to sit in a dank, dark hole where no one can appreciate all that fine gold lace,” Robbie murmured.

“And you want?”

“Two things. The Countess Kilmarnock is mine. Stay away from her. And should you make our court
case unnecessarily difficult, well see that you don’t enjoy your stay in Scotland.”

“I can agree now and change my mind later.”

“So can I.”

“So I would be witless to argue.”

“And having arrived at such lofty eminence at your age, I rather doubt you are.”

The obscuring clouds cleared the moon for a moment, and Argyll’s crafty gaze was transiently exposed.

“Agreed.”

Robbie nodded, not gullible enough to actually believe him, but interested in buying some time to take Roxane away. “You’ll be escorted back to Edinburgh.”

“And the fair Roxane is yours.”

“Remember, I don’t allow poachers. A caveat I suggest you heed.”

“As you wish,” Argyll smoothly said.

Too smoothly for anything but dissimulation. But he had a few hours at least to see that Roxane was escorted to safety, Robbie thought. That much Argyll’s capture would allow.

S
OON ARGYLL, UNDER HEAVY GUARD, WAS ON HIS
way back to Edinburgh—by a circuitous route well out of the way of his troops, who were taking their dead and wounded home. The Carre wounded were escorted to the nearby estate of a loyal friend, while Robbie with a minimum guard continued his journey to Edgarhope Wood.

The cottage looked deserted when they arrived, and for an anxious moment, Robbie wondered if he
and Argyll had both miscalculated. But on closer inspection, he saw that a single window in the back was dimly lit. As his men waited, Robbie dismounted and approached the kitchen entrance.

The door was bolted, so he knocked.

The light immediately went out.

He called out to Roxane, and a second later candlelight flickered again and the bolt was drawn back. Opening the door, Roxane surveyed him with surprise. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Were you expecting someone else?” He was instantly suspicious, and his voice had turned gruff. Had she been waiting for Argyll?

“In this remote village—hardly. I’m surprised, that’s all. I thought you weren’t supposed to see me until September.”

“Argyll was after you, so I changed my mind.”

“Was?”

“He reconsidered. But we should leave immediately. He can’t be trusted.”

“Just a minute,” she said. “Do I have anything to say about this?”

“Would you rather spend the next few months with Argyll?”

“Would I have run if I did? I can be rude, too.”

He exhaled. “I’ll start over. We rode south to stop the Campbells from bringing you back as Argyll’s paramour. Now, would you please accompany me to a more secure location? Despite his word, Argyll may return for you.”

A slow smile greeted his explanation. “That’s better.”

“I’m learning,” he replied with a grin. “Although You’re damned touchy.”

“I don’t respond well to orders.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Now if we’re friends again,” he murmured, his smile widening, “dare I ask, what the hell did you do with your hair?”

“I had to pass as a stable boy to escape the house. Don’t you like it?” She brushed a hand over the short curls.

“I adore it.” His voice was amused. “Was that sufficiently diplomatic? Although I think mine is longer than yours now.”

“Perhaps I should take the male role then,” she teased.

His gaze narrowed and he shook his head. “Not likely, darling.” Moving forward, he was already reaching for her hand. “We really do have to go.”

“You’re wounded!” she exclaimed as he stepped into the light.

“Damned thing reopened. It’s nothing. How much baggage do you have?”

“Robbie, you’re bleeding through.” Even in the dim candle glow, the amount of blood visible was alarming.

He glanced down. The wetness extended down past his elbow. “I’ll have a new dressing put on once we reach the Cheviots.”

“But that’s hours from now.”

“If the bleeding begins to leave a trail, I’ll have the dressing changed. How would that be?”

“You should change it now. So it doesn’t become infected.”

“Mine never do,” he dismissively replied. “Darling,”
he admonished, “we really have to leave. Get your things.”

They were on the trail minutes later and rode until just before dawn when, concerned their well-armed escort would call attention to them, they separated south of Galashiels.

“We’re for Leithope Glen,” Robbie said to his men, “where we should be safe. Once you return to Edinburgh, send a note to my brother in Holland and tell him my plans. And don’t travel in daylight. Argyll will have his spies on full alert.”

“Mossburnford Forest should give you cover, at least for today,” Holmes said.

Robbie nodded.

“And have that arm looked at.” Holmes handed Robbie a pack of dressings and medicines Mrs. Beattie had sent along. The snuff-colored wool of Robbie’s coat sleeve was completely blood-soaked. “You couldn’t have gone much farther anyway without leaving a trail.”

“I’m warned, Holmes,” Robbie said with a small smile, the pain in his arm a torment the last few hours. “The countess will see that your orders are fulfilled, I’m sure.”

“As soon as we stop, Holmes,” she firmly declared. “I’ve been holding my tongue with difficulty.”

“There, you see,” Robbie said, grinning.

“Be on guard. Even in the hills a herder or woodsman might see you. Loyalties are no longer secure with Argyll’s bribes and threats common currency.”

“We’ll be caution itself.”

“I told my children I’d see them in a fortnight,”
Roxane said. “Could you have someone bring Amelia a message?”

“Tell her well come north in a fortnight,” Robbie added.

Roxane shook her head. “It’s not necessary, Holmes. The children will understand if Amelia talks to them.”

“Tell her we
may
come to see them in a fortnight,” Robbie instructed, a finality in his tone Holmes recognized.

Holmes tipped his head in understanding. “Well see that she’s informed.”

As pale gray lighted the horizon, Robbie and Roxane set off on their own. The landscape of rolling hills and streams, dotted with small groves of beech and oak, offered a degree of security, but Mossburnford Forest was still miles away and they had less than an hour to find concealment.

A
RGYLL WAS PLOTTING HIS VENGEANCE AS HE
rode between his Carre guards, mentally recalling the southern counties, contemplating the best areas of concealment. A nation as small as Scotland couldn’t long hide a fugitive from the queen. He’d have posters drawn up, he thought, and criers sent out with the offered reward for Robbie Carre, dead or alive. The young earl had already been put to fire and sword—outlawed—without Argyll’s help. As for the fair Roxane, she’d pay in her own way for the inconvenience she’d caused him. And for his humiliation.

He’d whip her first—not enough to do damage to that beautiful flesh, just enough to teach her
compliance. And a silver collar around her neck might be useful, something he could shackle with a chain. Then he’d see that she offered herself whenever he wished, wherever he wished. Maybe he’d even have Robbie Carre watch, if he was brought in alive. He had to shift in the saddle to accommodate his erection, the salacious fantasy vivid in his mind.

R
OBBIE CARRE AT THE MOMENT WAS FAINT FROM
pain, undergoing the torture of having his bandage removed. He and Roxane had found shelter in a woodcutter’s hut, a rough shed made from logs and wattle, the roof thatched with brush.

His arm was dangerously swollen, the mutilated flesh crimsoned and hot. Roxane resisted the impulse to gasp at the gory sight.

Robbie silently swore, recognizing a wound beginning to go bad. And he clenched his teeth against the agony as Roxane wiped the pus away with a piece of bandage wetted with brandy from his saddlebags.

“You need a doctor.”

“No doctor.” He took a sustaining breath. “Mrs. Beattie sent a salve. Put that on.”

“This wound might need to be lanced.”

“You can do it later. I’ll lie in the loch at Leithope Glen. Water does wonders for suppurating wounds.”

“How much farther do we have to ride?”

“Another night.”

“Dare we travel today?” She left unsaid the possibility he might be unable to ride by nightfall.

He gazed at his wound and then at the dense
growth of trees around them. “Tie this up, and well go as far as the limits of the forest.”

Turning pale as his coat was pulled on, he suppressed the groan rising in his throat. And moments later, almost faint after mounting his horse, he whispered, “Give me another drink.” Only his hands, clenched hard on his saddle pommel, held him upright.

What have I done? Roxane fearfully thought, rushing to pull the silver flask from his pack. He might die from his putrid wound, all because she hadn’t been resolute enough to send him away. She should have considered more than her own pleasure; she should have insisted he leave that first night in Edinburgh.

“I wouldn’t have gone,” he whispered, as though reading her mind.

She stared at him, nonplussed.

“It’s not your fault, none of this is. I’ll be fine.” His smile took effort, she could see. “Once I have a drink.”

Quickly thrusting the opened flask into his hand, she watched him drain half the contents in one swallow. “There, now,” he said with a sigh, putting the chained stopper back in with his teeth. “Come, darling, it’s not so bad. I’ve been wounded before. Let me show you the way out of here.”

He drank the first flask dry and emptied a second one before they reached the end of the forest. With his pain dulled by the liquor, his color improved; he could even stand to move his arm marginally.

“Could we try the country lanes?” she asked, aware of the necessity to reach safe haven quickly. “Even if someone were to see us, we could offer them a bribe to forget our passing.”

“Argyll travels with an intimidating number of men,” Robbie cautioned. “I’m not sure a local can withstand that pressure, bribe or not.”

“But the Borderers don’t like the militia. Nor the Highlanders either. I think we should travel in daylight and take our chances.”

“I won’t argue.” He understood the limits of his endurance. Brandy or not, he knew he wouldn’t survive another day in the saddle.

“How
are
you?” she murmured, alarmed by his ready acquiescence.

“If I black out before we reach Brundenlaws, tie me to my saddle, stay on the path to the right at Upper Hind, and keep moving toward the outcropping on the crest of the hill. Wake me up somehow at that point and I’ll take us the last few miles.”