The Highlander (11 page)

The delicious smell permeated the kitchen and drifted up the stairs.

A short time later, Sophie entered the room.

"You are looking better, lass. I think you are on the mend. Did ye sleep well?"

She felt a warm flush rise upward and hoped the telltale stain of red did not color her cheeks. She knew he had no way of knowing how much she thought of what happened between them, or how the erotic memory of it occupied her thoughts. She had never had such wanton thoughts before, and could only speculate as to why she would have such thoughts—with vivid details of him making love to her—after it had already happened.

He was watching her with an odd expression that made her wonder if he could have some inkling as to what she was thinking. He had not mentioned their amorous encounter, and the tension of it began to wear on her. Why was he avoiding her?

"I'm sorry," she said. "Did you say something?"

"Aye, I asked if you slept well."

"Yes, I suppose I did, for I do not remember waking even once. I think the rest has been good for me, for I feel better today, and stronger. However, I do not think I will ever feel completely warm again. I didn't realize it could be so cold here in the autumn."

"Aye, it can be quite cold in the Highlands," he said.

She had taken a seat near the fire, not far from where he stood. She was holding her hands out, seeking warmth, when she heard dogs barking outside.

She saw him turn quickly to glance through the window, and then he turned back to her with a smile. "They have treed the barn cat," he said.

"Are they your dogs? I have not seen them in the house."

He must have seen the look of fright in her eyes, for he gathered her into his arms and sat down to cradle her against him. He held her easily, as if it was something he did daily. "Aye, they live here, although^they think they belong to Angus, the gamekeeper, for he is the one who cares for them. They are not really pets, for they were bred to alert us to any unfamiliar types who might be about. I think the last time they came inside was wen my sister, Arabella, was fourteen."

She worked her face into the cove of his shoulder and her mouth close enough to his ear to whisper, "Are you sure it was only the barn cat they found?" she asked.

"Aye."

"How do you know it was not a person, or a wild animal?" she asked. "Have you ever caught someone prowling?"

"Aye, there have been occasional raids or cattle thieves."

"You don't think they could be out there now, do you?"

"Nay, lass, I saw Tarn barking at the cat. Besides, Tarn's bark would have been different had it been intruders."

"Do you suffer that sort of visitor often?"

"Often enough. Mostly it is the MacBeans, or the Crowders, but it could be any number of Highland clans. These are hard times, and the clans are always warring with one another and stealing cattle, as if we dinna have enough trouble with dragoons patrolling the area."

"Life here faces too many unknown perils. How can you bear it?"

"You have to learn who you can trust, and who is on your side. Even then, it is not unheard of for a man to be betrayed by his best friends. There are many spies about and many ways of hearing."

She shifted her position. "I know I ask too many questions."

"Not too many, although you do ask your share."

She shifted her weight as she tried to get a more comfortable position.

"You would do us both a service if you didna wiggle so much, considering the place where ye are sitting. It makes it damnably hard to keep my mind on consoling ye."

"I know I must be heavy."

"Nay, lass, 'tis not that you are heavy, for in truth you dinna weigh more than a bag of turnips. It has more to do with that part of me that ye are sitting on. Has a mind of its own sometimes, and when in the close proximity of such a fetching derriere... Do ye understand now?"

Everything between her ears turned scarlet, but she did manage a nod and a weak "Yes."

She was about to ask him how he fared on his morning hunt, when his^body tensed, as if listening.

Sophie listened as well, and was aware that it had grown very quiet outside. Her mouth felt dry, and the sound of her heartbeat hammered in her ears.

His hand whipped out suddenly and clamped over her mouth, and when she turned startled eyes upon him, he motioned for her to be quiet.

He removed his hand.

She remained as still as a chimney, and strained her ears to listen. In the distance, she heard the sound of hooves, coming closer.

Jamie eased out of the chair and went to the peg near the door, where he had left his sword.

With a sense of dread she watched, dry mouthed, as he buckled the sword around his waist.

The hoof beats grew louder now, and then as if passing by, they began to fade.

He turned back to her. "If you are feeling up to it, you can fill a couple of bowls with rabbit while I go outside to have a look around."

She nodded, her heart not really dedicated to the prospect of serving rabbit, when her first inclination had been to run above stairs to find a good place to hide like one.

After he had gone, she decided she did not want him to think she was a coward, so she found two bowls and an equal number of spoons. She filled each bowl with the thick, savory broth and vegetables, mixed with ample chunks of rabbit. It was similar to what they called a bouillabaisse in France, although she had no idea what the Scots called it.

She placed the bowls on the table and sat down to wait, and grew increasingly nervous with each moment that passed. She wondered what she would do if something happened to him, and realized how important he was to her survival. What would I do? she wondered.

The thought of being here without him made her realize he was all that stood between her and the English.

She wished she knew more about life here in Scotland, and what the ordeals and harms were that these hearty Scots faced each day. In France, she had heard a few vague stories about Scots, especially those in the Highlands, and how they were only one step removed from barbarians, but that really gave her no idea what trials and perils Jamie was likely to face.

Occasionally, a story would reach France about the hatred most Highlanders had for the English, and the atrocities the English committed against them. There were other stories, too, of how the Scottish nobles usually sided with the English, even to the point of betraying their own countrymen.

She wondered if perhaps this was why the French were generally sympathetic toward the Scots. Strange though it was, it did seem that it was human nature to sympathize with those battered down by misfortune and cruelty more than when they were triumphant.

While she waited for Jamie, Sophie went back to drumming her fingers on the table and busied herself with looking around the kitchen.

It was a comfortable room, and not too large like some castle kitchens she had seen. It also had two nice windows, which castles also lacked. Two long tables were pushed against one wall, and one larger table with a top of smoothly polished stone stood in the center
of
the room.

Near the fireplace, the bowls of rabbit sat on a smaller table, surrounded by eight chairs. Two dark chairs, ornately carved, were placed side by side opposite the table, separated by the hearth rug.

She could see why Jamie liked to spend time at Danegaeld. All the rooms of the lodge were cozy and of a good size, and comfortably furnished in a manner that was luxurious and lavish but not overdone.

She heard him approach and stomp his feet before he opened the door. A few flurries of snow blew in, and the sudden gust of air caused the flames in the fireplace to burn more brightly, fanned by the sudden updraft.

"You should have eaten," he said, when he saw the bowls and Sophie waiting for him.

"I thought about it, but I dislike eating alone."

"Aye, to pass the meal in the company of friends is always preferred."

"I was worried. You were gone a long time." "It was not as long as it seemed. Time always seems to pass slower for the one who is left behind."

"Did you see anyone?"

"Aye, there was a platoon of English dragoons on the trail less than a mile from here. 'Twas the rattie and clink of their equipment that set the dogs to barking." He spoke each word carefully, all the while keeping his gaze focused upon her to judge her reaction to the news.

Her response was more explosive than he anticipated, for her head jerked up quickly, and when she brought her hand up to her chest, she managed to hit the spoon. It did a somersault when it flipped out of the bowl, and sent a shower of rabbit bits and vegetables across the room.

By the time the spoon hit the floor with a hollow clang, the anxious look was gone, and she was having a devil of a time suppressing a laugh, for a carrot disc rested rather precariously upon his shoulder.

Apparently, the lofty earl did not share her amusement. "I did not know you were so terrified of the English. Why is that?"

She shrugged. "I have no idea why, only that I am." She barely paid any attention to what she said, for the carrot was a distraction.

"Do you find something amusing?"

"Yes. You have a carrot on your shoulder."

*
  
*
  
*

In a tavern a few miles away, Major Jack Winter of His Majesty's 7th Dragoons was drinking a pint of ale with two fellow officers.

Lieutenant Peter Hastings held the attention of his two compatriots. "I say it is impossible that she could have survived when everyone else on board perished. Why must we continue to look for her?"

Captain Geoffrey Wright had an answer ready. "Because they want us to keep looking until we find her or until her body washes ashore."

"We don't know for certain she was even on that ship," Lieutenant Hastings said.

"It seems we do have confirmation of that now," Major Winter said. "It seems her cousin has admitted that she accompanied Mademoiselle d'Alembert on board, and that she left shortly before it sailed."

"Perhaps she changed her mind after her cousin's departure, and left the ship. It could have happened that way," Hastings observed.

Major Winter nodded. "It's possible, but one would think she would have been seen leaving the ship."

Wright glanced at the major. "In the meantime, we must continue to look for her."

Major Winter nodded. "Until I receive orders telling us otherwise."

Hastings put down his pint. "How large an area must we patrol?"

"We must thoroughly search a radius of twenty miles," the major said, "but regiments across Scotland are on the alert, as well as our spies."

Wright whistled. "Someone must want the chit badly."

"Oh, they do," the major said, while tapping his fingers on the table. "They most certainly do."

"But why are we looking for her?" Hastings asked. "We aren't in the habit of helping the French. Who is it that is so interested in locating her?"

"The Duke of Rockingham," the major said, and then he laughed at the expressions on the faces of the other two.

"I almost feel sorry for her," Captain Wright said, shaking his head.

"Perhaps I would as well, save for the fact that she is French, and since I have nothing but animosity for them, I say she deserves whatever she gets, and that includes the likes of Rockingham," Hastings added. "But what I don't understand is, why is Rockingham so interested in her?"

"He's had his spies hunting down the Jacobites in France for years," the major said. "It seems on one trip to France, he saw her and was completely captivated. She is reported to be a great beauty."

"Not bad," Hastings said. "A beautiful face and the granddaughter of Louis XIV." He paused as if considering something, then asked, "You don't mean Rockingham had thoughts of marrying her himself?"

The major nodded. "Oh, yes, and not just thoughts. He was cunning enough to offer his assistance to the French crown, and the result was his betrothal. It was my understanding she was to be sent to England to marry the duke. Of course, at the time all of this transpired, Rockingham was in good standing with her cousin, Louis XV. Now I hear the Louie does not think as highly of Rockingham as he once did."