The Highlander (30 page)

He has used you, Sophie, without love, without marriage, without feeling. You will have to accept that fact and, in time, you will overcome the pain and the hurt.

Tears gathered. Her nose burned. I loved him, she thought, and slammed her fists against the pillow. I loved him.

I love him still....

She was almost asleep when she heard the door open and someone stepped into the room. She did not care who it was.

The door closed. The lock clicked back into place. She lay quiet and subdued, waiting.

Even with her eyes closed she could tell that whoever it was carried a candle. The light behind her lids grew brighter as the footsteps came closer, and closer still.

Sophie slowly opened her eyes and saw Jamie standing beside the bed, watching her with inscrutable eyes.

Not knowing what he intended caused the sleepy feeling to vanish, and replaced it with a cold, empty sobriety.

Her hand inched forward, under the pillow and a little farther, until* it closed around the silver letter opener.

"Are you unwell?" His hand was warm and solid on her forehead.

She turned her head away. "I have no fever, if that is what you are asking."

"I sent for the doctor as soon as Maude told me you were refusing your meals."

"If that is why you came, you can leave. The doctor was here. I ate some soup."

"Yes, I know."

"Then why are you here?"

He stroked her cheek with the back of bis fingers.

She turned her head away. "No. We are done with that. There is nothing between us now but anger and distrust. I hope that your anger toward me has subsided enough that you realize I cannot remain here. You are an earl... a man of breeding and honor. It is not right for you to keep me as your prisoner. You have to let me go."

"Aye, I have told myself the same thing, time and again."

Careful to keep the letter opener under cover she struggled to sit up, but she was too weak to do so. She saw the way he looked at her, and it was obvious he could see through the thinness of her shift. She drew the sheet up with one hand and clutched it beneath her chin.

"Why hide it? I have seen everything, and often enough that I have committed it to memory."

"Then leer at your memory and stop looking at me."

"I have already tried that, lass, to no avail."

Everything seemed to jerk to a standstill, as if time had suddenly careered into a stone wall.

The ticking of the clock on the mantel faded away.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

After a few seconds, tension began to gather like prickly points of icicles stabbing at her nerves. For a single panic-stricken moment her only emotion was an instinctive urge to hurt him as he had hurt her...continued to hurt her.

Sophie found it difficult to breathe or move, for she was paralyzed with the thought that he intended to make love to her—that he actually thought she could toss aside all the things he had said and done, and make love with him.

As if they could so easily go back and pick things up where they had left them. It wasn't that easy. At least, not for her.

"I would rather jump out that window to my death than have you touch me now," she said, in spite of the awareness of him that throbbed in her blood until she wanted him to love her, and keep on loving her, until they both forgot all the reasons why they were now compelled to hurt each other.

"It is a theory worth testing," he said. "Shall we find the truth of it, then?"

With a twisting move she broke free of the bed and faced him, her long gown wrapped around her legs, the letter opener gleaming in the light of the candle.

She held the letter opener tightly, the sharp point not more than two feet from his chest. "Open that door and tell everyone to stay away from me."

"You couldn't run fast enough or far enough that I would not get you in the end. Not that it matters. You will never leave here, lass. Not even if you kill me." He started toward her.

"I can meet that challenge easy enough," she said.

When she saw his look of disbelief, she added, "I mean it."

"Aye, I ken ye do, lass. However, I grow weary of this game where neither of us wins. I want you in my bed. You want to run away. We cannot have it both ways, lass. One of us has to lose."

"I don't intend to lose. I am leaving here. Tonight."

"Then I will make it easy for you. I'm going to keep walking until you run me through."

He took a step toward her. Her hand began to tremble. "Get out of the way. I don't want to do this, but I will."

"I know."

"I'm warning you."

He took another step, and another, until he was mere inches away.

"I will use it. I have nothing to lose at this point."

"Neither have I," he said softly. "I have already lost the only thing that meant anything to me."

"We have that in common, at least."

"Use the knife, lass. Use it, or yield."

His voice was infuriatingly soft and calm, the way he would speak to a skittish horse, gentle and soothing. She watched him warily.

"Strike now, Sophie, or throw down the knife."

She lunged at him, and instantly realized what she had done. This was the man she loved, the father of her unborn child. How could she have sunk this low? Even if he intended to kill her, she could not inflict any more pain than she already had upon him.

At the last moment she twisted her arm to change the course and felt the tip scrape across his flesh.

She dropped the opener and it hit the floor with a clatter. A thin red line of blood oozed from the scratch across his stomach to ooze through the fabric of his shirt. Her startled gaze settled upon his face and she felt herself yanked into his arms as his mouth crushed down upon her pale, cold lips.

The room whirled about them and she felt the floor lift up beneath her feet, then with a sensation of spinning faster and faster they were swept into the center of an emotional hurricane. He lifted her into his arms and laid her down on the bed. With one rip he tore her gown off. A second later his shirt and kilt fell to the floor.

His mouth slammed against hers and she answered his kiss with a raging desire of her own, their hunger for each other matched as she pulled him to lie over her, his hips slipping into the warm cove between her legs when she moved them apart to accommodate him.

A wanton fire of throbbing passion rose over them in molten waves, burning and sweeping them over the edge of a volcano. He loved her, as she needed to be loved, as she wanted to be loved—with abandon and a tender sort of savagery that laid her defenses to waste.

Even when the wanton burn of fire had passed, and nothing remained but the smoldering reminder of what had happened between them, he still did not withdraw, but remained joined with her. "As long as I am in you, you are part of me and cannot leave."

Tears welled in her eyes. She wanted to tell him she could easier cut out her own heart than to leave him. The agony of not knowing what to do cut to the core of her, and left her torn and hurting inside, where he could not see.

She lifted her hand to caress the cheek, the face that would always haunt her dreams, and wound her fingers into the soft skeins of his long hair. If only they could be this way forever, for when they made love there was no distrust, no lies, no pain, only the deep aching want, the need to mate, the love she felt for him that would never end.

He said nothing, and she knew he was thinking about her deception and his inability to forgive her. She knew he was trapped in a web he had spun for himself. He had no choice, really.

If he could not forgive her, he had to let her

go-She made a move to get up. His hand shot out and caught her by the wrist, but more gently than before. "Where are you going?"

' 'To put on my dress... to pack my things... to make arrangements for my departure."

"What happened between us changes nothing. I will never let you go."

"You can't keep me here, because you will never be able to trust me or forgive me. No good will come of this. You will continue to distrust me until I come to hate you, and then we will destroy each other. Is that what you want? It would be easier for both of us if I went willingly, and of my own accord, to Rockingham."

"Do not try to reason with me. I have no reason left. You are in my blood. Even though I know I should, I can't let you go." Swearing softly, he pulled her back and kissed her with a wild sort of desperation that broke her heart.

He wanted her, but his pride got in the way.

He took her again, swiftly, urgently, as if driven by devils he could not control. Somehow, she knew it would be done between them this time. When lust is spent, and when something is over, it's best done quickly.

A trembling, sweet agony gripped her and left her clinging tightly to him, sated and trembling in his arms.

They lay together for a long time, still and silent, as if by not speaking they could prolong the inevitable.

At last, unable to bear it any longer, she said, "You know it is ended between us."

"In any event, that would not change anything," he said.

She felt the tightening of his jaw, then the pressure of his lips against her hair. His voice was ragged: half plea, half anger, "Try to understand..."

Her heart felt as cold and heavy as a stone.

"I understand," she said. "I understand nothing has changed. Everything will go on as before... you with your freedom to take a wife, while I will be kept as your paramour."

^Twenty

O you gods!

Why do you make us love your goodly gifts

And snatch them straight away? —William Shakespeare (1564-1616), English poet and playwright.
Pericles
(1606-1608), Act 3, Scene 1

It
had been a week since Gillian's visit, and one piece of the puzzle had not yet fallen into place.

The one question that he could not answer was how did Gillian find out about Sophie?

After much thought, he decided it had to be Vilain. Gillian has certainly inferred he had bedded her. There was only one way to find out. He would go to Vilain and ask him in person.

The ring of his spurs on the stone steps of the turret had barely died away by the time Jamie mounted his horse.

Niall was watching him closely, worried for his brother's apparent lack of concern. "Do ye think it's safe to be riding out without any of yer men to accompany ye?" Niall asked. "There might be patrols about. Why dinna ye let me go with ye, at least?"

"I have committed no crime," Jamie said, and hearing the portcullis rise, he wheeled his horse to ride through the gate. "Therefore, I have nothing to worry about."

"As if that will make a difference to the English," Niall said, but Jamie was already through the gate and cantering down away from Mon-leigh.

Niall continued to watch him as Corrie broke into a full gallop and his brother disappeared from sight.

It was bitterly cold from the bite of snow in the wind blowing down from the mountains. It was early still, and the mist so heavy it was hardly discernable from rain. Jamie rode down the side of a rock-strewn mountain, the narrow trail wide enough for only one horse.

Before long the trail began to widen some as he turned his horse to round an outcropping of stone that opened onto the moor. He found himself surrounded by at least two dozen Highlanders wearing the dark plaid of the Black

Watch, ready to betray their countrymen whenever they could.

Jamie sat astride his horse, facing Captain Robinson. He was not so naive to think they had come upon each other by accident. He knew they were here because of Sophie. Because someone in their midst had betrayed him.

"Lord Monleigh, I believe?"

"I think you knew who I was before you stopped me."

"I am Captain Robinson of the Black Watch. I apologize for stopping you like this. We were on our way to see you."

"About what?"

"I understand you have a French lass under your protection. She goes by the name of Sophie d'Alembert, though her real name is—"

"I know who she is," Jamie said. "I doubt you rode out here to tell me that."

"No, your lordship, I have come to tell you Mademoiselle d'Alembert must be taken to England so that she may be reunited with her betrothed, the Duke of Rockingham."

"Mademoiselle d'Alembert does not wish to be reunited with the illustrious duke."

Captain Robinson nodded. "Be that as it may, she has been officially betrothed by her cousin, the King of France, and that is something neither of us has the power to undo. You must hand her over to us."

"The lass stays at Monleigh Castle, under my protection," Jamie said, never taking his gaze from Robinson's face.

"You are being very foolish, Lord Monleigh, and you risk much."

"Be that as it may, but the lass stays at Monleigh where the might of the Grahams will protect her, down to the last man."

"My God! We did not come here to start a war with the Grahams."

"The choice is yours."

"If you refuse to hand the lady over then I have no choice but to arrest you. Your sword, please."

Jamie looked around the circle of the twenty or so men who surrounded him with their swords drawn. With a nod at the captain he unsheathed his sword and handed it over to Captain Robinson.

"Bind him," Robinson said.

There was a moment of uneasy silence as each of the members of the Black Watch looked at one another, as if reluctant to be the one who would bind the hands of the powerful Earl of Monleigh.

Jamie saw the captain raise the sword he had just surrendered to him and a moment later everything went black.

Captain Robinson looked at Monleigh's body lying on the ground. "I said, bind him! Now, if you please...unless you wish to join him."

Vilain had also risen early that morning and, after his horse was saddled, he rode toward Monleigh Castle. He had ridden less than half a league when he saw the open moor ahead of him, through the thinning trees.

Vilain recognized the gray stallion that belonged to James Graham galloping toward him, although they were still faraway. He was almost to the edge of the trees when he saw the Black Watch ride out and surround the Earl of Monleigh.

Vilain stopped and dismounted. Hidden in the screen of trees, he watched silently as the Captain of the Black Watch struck Jamie on the side of his head with the flat side of his sword, and Jamie toppled from the saddle. By the time he regained consciousness he had been gagged, bound and tied across his saddle.

Without moving, Vilain listened to the ring of hoofs glancing against stone, the jingle of stirrups and the rattle of bridles as the Chief of the Clan Graham was led away.

Vilain remained safely hidden behind the trees until they were completely out of sight, then he mounted and urged his horse to a full gallop as he rode toward the Earl of Monleigh's home.

He splashed across a narrow burn then up the steep track until he slowed to a canter and rode through the gates of Monleigh.

Once he was inside, he broke the news to Jamie's brothers that the Chief of the Grahams and the laird of the castle had been arrested and taken away.

Niall broke the news to Sophie.

"I don't understand why they arrested him. I'm the one they want."

"They knew Jamie would never hand ye over, lass."

"What will you do now?"

"We will find where they have taken him, and then we will try to arrange for his release."

"They will not set him free. You know that. You have no choice but to take me there and arrange to exchange the two of us."

Fraser whistled. "Jamie would never sanction that."

No, but Calum would, Sophie thought, and suddenly an idea came to her. "Jamie is in no bargaining position at the moment. His life is in danger. You do agree on that point, at least, do you not?"

"Aye." They seemed to speak in unison.

She knew they were not going to involve a woman in their manly business, and she chose not to waste the effort it would take to even try to convince them. "Please let me know what you decide to do."

Niall nodded. "I will keep you informed."

After Niall was gone, Sophie spent the afternoon sewing with Arabella. With pricked fingers, Arabella embroidered the top for a stool, while Sophie stitched a cushion. It was a way to stay busy, and eased some of the tension that hung over the castle, stormlike, dark and ominous.

Later, dissatisfied with the progress of her cushion and her fingers throbbing from too many pinpricks, Sophie went above stairs and took dinner in her room.

When Arabella stopped by later they sat in the soft candlelight and talked quietly well into the night.

Once Arabella was gone, and Sophie had assured herself that everyone else had retired for the night, she dressed and left her room to make her way quietly below stairs. The hall was dim, but she could make out the door to Cal-um's room.

She knocked softly.

Calum had not yet dressed for bed for he opened the door almost immediately, still in his clothes. He was obviously surprised to see her. The surprised look soon gave way to one of intense dislike. Not that it surprised her. She had known since her first day at Monleigh that Calum neither liked nor approved of her.

His voice was cynical. "You have wandered into the wrong room, haven't you? Jamie's is further down the hall, although it will no' do you any good to go there. He isn't here."

"Yes, I know about Jamie. I have come here because I know of a way to free him. I must speak with,you."

She recognized that look. It was the same look of distrust she had seen often enough on Jamie's face. It must be a Graham family trait, she thought. When in doubt, frown, look grim and distrust everyone in sight.

In spite of his dislike and distrust, he did open the door wider and stepped back, allowing her to enter his room.

His face was quite grave, and she wondered what disdain and scorn he would heap upon her, for she thought of him as a man who would be ceaseless in his reproach.

"I don't suppose it will tarnish your reputation any further if someone sees you come in here," he said.

Although his disdain was not amiss, her cheeks burned at the reference to her loss of both reputation and status. "No. I have moved beyond both reproach and redemption now."

"Before you say what you have to tell me, I want to know why you came to me instead of one of my brothers."

"You were the one who made your dislike known from the beginning. Therefore, it seemed logical that you would be the one most likely to go along with my plan."

Something that lay between admiration and respect flickered in his eyes. "Then perhaps I should tell you that recent events have persuaded me to alter, somewhat, my initial opinion of you," he said.

Well, if that wasn't the unexpected spark that kindled a fire, she thought. He caught her unprepared, and it left her with a sort of false balance. How could she not respect his forthright honesty without changing her own persuasions of him?

She discerned Calum was a man who was mentally faithful to himself, and how could she fault that? He had no use for the oily art of glib remarks, nor did he wear the mask of piety to • hide the ugly features behind it. In spite of his blunt honesty, she found herself valuing his regard.

"I wish I had more time to pursue that," she said, "but it is good news come too late. We must focus on Jamie now and, if we are successful, I will not be around to enjoy your change of heart."

His interest obviously piqued, he asked, "All right, tell me of this plan of yours."

"I want to give myself over to the English— in exchange for Jamie—but I need your help. I do not know where they have taken him, or how to get there. There is also the small matter of my distrust of the English. With me being a woman, the odds of betrayal are even greater. Were I to arrange the exchange, I fear they would end up keeping both of us. I need you to negotiate with them and arrange the exchange."

"I am humbled by your courage," he said, "and I bow to your charity, for it is apparent you love my brother. It's my guess they have taken him to Inverness."

"Can you take me there?"

' 'Aye, I could take you, but Jamie would have my hide if I did-that."

"Jamie won't have any hide left if you don't take me. You know he is too stubborn to tell them what they want to know. He would die first, and we both know they would be more than happy to oblige."

He remained thoughtful for a moment. "Aye, I will take you. 'Tis better to have an angry brother than a dead one, I ken."

It was at that moment that Sophie experienced an epiphany that would forever change the way she viewed this man, for she understood that the supreme measure of a man was not where he stood in times of peace and leisure, but where he stood in times of conflict and controversy.