The Highlander (34 page)

It was a good choice, for the air was fresh and crisp, and although the roses were not in bloom, the clear sky overhead captured her attention. The stars were out in dazzling array, and the full moon was the texture of cream. She began to feel the chill of the night air, and she was about to return to the house when she noticed a light appear in Rockingham's "study.

From where Sophie was standing she could clearly see into the room, as Jeremy Ashford, Rockingham's indomitable factor, entered holding a candle aloft.

He paused long enough to light a girandole on a nearby wall.

From her vantage point on the terrace Sophie watched, in a fascinated way, as he removed the lid from a Chinese urn and withdrew a key, which he used to unlock an ancient stone box.

Once he turned the key, he manipulated the four sides of the box by sliding each of them forward to release the lid.

Sophie was beyond curious now, for the box she recognized was an ossuary, an ancient container to hold the bones of the dead, and she had no inkling why he would be opening it until he withdrew a roll of parchment from his coat and placed it in the box.

After he locked the box and returned the key, he doused the candle and the room was dark once more.

Sophie waited at least five minutes or more before she stepped inside.

Instead of going to her room, she slipped quietly into the duke's study where she immediately withdrew the key from the urn and unlocked the ossuary. Her attention was drawn to an ornate Celtic dragon carved on top, and the markings carved beneath it. It was written in ogham, an ancient Celtic alphabet that consisted of twenty characters.

Hundreds of years ago, it had been a secret religious language used by the Druids. She studied the markings for a moment.

"Brack Gra,”
she said, pronouncing the words that meant eternal love.

Melancholy descended upon her like a weeping cloud. Something she did understand was that at one time, this small stone box had contained the bones of someone beloved.

She had little doubt that Rockingham had disposed of the bones in order to use the box for his own purposes.

She opened the stone box and withdrew the parchment.

To her astonishment it was written in French, and even more surprising was the signature and great seal of her dear cousin, Louis XV, at the bottom.

She quickly scanned the letter and her hands began to tremble, for she was well aware that what she held in her small hands was the means to topple the almighty Rockingham from his powerful perch.

She slipped the letter down the front of her bodice, closed the box, returned the key to the urn and, after dousing the candle, slipped quietly from the room.

Once she was back in her own room, she dressed warmly in her riding clothes and with her cape thrown over her arm she went below stairs to the laundry, where she made her way through a maze of five-legged troughs used for washing, and ducked under a line of clothes drying.

She slipped outside and continued across the lawn while keeping close to the shrubbery, as she headed toward the maze, which was near the stables.

She had almost reached the maze when a hand came around her mouth, and she felt herself yanked backward against a hard, muscular body.

"How do you expect me to rescue you if you won't stay put, lass? I've been following ye around this bloody castle for half the night."

The next thing she knew she was kissing him, or he was kissing her, or maybe it did not matter. All she knew was they were frantically kissing each other.

He is here, she thought, which meant that he did care for her—at least enough that he would risk all to come after her.

It was like being home and, in a way, that is how she felt about being wrapped securely in the protective embrace of the man she loved.

There were a million questions all cramming into her poor brain at the same time, and she could not seem to think straight. All she knew was that this wonderful man was not here by accident, that he must have forgiven her and cared enough about her to risk his life coming here. "What are you doing here?" she finally managed to ask. "I never thought I would see you again."

"I came after you," he said, apparently noticing how she was trembling. "Are you all right, lass?"

"Yes, only I seem to have difficulty breathing. I cannot believe it is truly you." She was holding on to him for dear life, afraid to ease her grip even a little for fear he might disappear.

When he spoke again, he was mumbling the words against her lips. "As much as I'd like to make love to you right here and now, I've got to get you out of here. Where is Rockingham?"

"He is meeting with the members of the Leicester House Set."

"That bunch of dolts who think to put the Prince Regent on the throne?"

"How do you know about that?"

"I make it my business to know as much as possible about the enemy. What are they doing here?"

She began to talk so fast, trying to tell him everything she had wanted to tell him for so long...how she had first met Rockingham at the French Court, and the agreement between her cousin, Louis, and Rockingham, which included her hand in marriage. She kept babbling on and on, unable to stop until Jamie finally had to kiss her to shut her up.

"There will be time for that later, lass. Right now, I must get you out of here."

"Wait! I cannot believe I almost forgot." She began to unlace the top of her bodice.

"As much as I'd like to dally, lass, this isna the time or the place. That will have to wait."

She withdrew the parchment. "It isn't what you think. I found this tonight. It is a letter from my cousin, King Louis. He states that he will send the necessary troops Rockingham has requested, as well as the gold, but only after he receives proof my marriage to Rockingham has taken place. He goes on to say that it is necessary to protect his interests when Rockingham's plan to put himself on the throne succeeds, and I become Queen of England."

Sophie paused, for Jamie seemed not to be listening at all. "Did you hear what I said? He intends to put himself on the throne...to betray the other members of the Leicester House Set."

"Aye, lass, I heard you, dinna worrit about that. Where did you find it?"

She told him how she had watched Jeremy, and then opened the box herself. "It had an ornate dragon carved on top—a Celtic dragon, I assume, since the words written in ogham below it were Celtic. I was sorry I took the time to translate it, for it made me sad...
Brack Gra,"
she said. "It means eternal love."

He seemed dumbfounded. "You can read ogham? But... how?"

"My father was a brilliant man. He knew more than a dozen languages, many of them ancient ones—Egyptian, Aramaic, Coptic, Etruscan.... I learned to read the markings from him, but the dragon's significance was puzzling to me."

"It was probably the Celtic dragon, which represents sovereignty, power or a chief.
Pen-dragon
is the Celtic word for chief...but enough of that for now. I haveW idea. Come on." He took her by the hand and started back toward the main part of the castle.

She jerked to a stop and stared at him with a horrified expression. "You are taking me
back?"

"Never." He smiled beautifully and she almost melted. "I am going back with you, lass."

"But why? We are almost free. Why go back?"

"I ken there is a better way to leave here than slipping over the castle walls." "Which way is that?" "I prefer to walk out the front door." "Jamie Graham, are you daft?"

He kissed her quickly. "Trust me and ask questions later."

By the time they the wing of the castle where Rockingham and the others were meeting, Sophie was seriously beginning to doubt Jamie's intelligence. To go in where they were meeting was lunacy. It did not make any sense.

When they approached the door the guards stopped them. Naturally, she thought. What else were guards for?

When Rockingham heard the commotion, he opened the door. "What is going..."

Jamie, with Sophie holding tightly to his arm, walked into the room. "Good eventide, gentlemen."

The Duke of Haversley turned to Rockingham. "What is the meaning of this? Who is this man?"

"The Earl of Monleigh, at your service," Jamie said.

"You have a bloody lot of nerve coming in here, Monleigh," Rockingham said. "I always knew Scots to be thick-headed, but I had no idea they were so stupid."

"Let us decide later, which of us is stupid," Jamie replied, before giving his attention to the other men in the room.

"I have come to deliver a message to you from the King of France," Jamie said. "He has the gold, and troops, and they are ready to come to Rockingham's aid. The moment he receives proof that Rockingham and the king's cousin, Sophie de Bourbon, have wed, French ships carrying French troops, along with the gold, will be immediately dispatched to England. They come, gentlemen, to assist you with your claim to put your dear friend the Duke of Rockingham on the throne of England."

Rockingham's face was deathly white. He turned to the guards. "He lies. Arrest him."

Jamie turned back to the group of astonished men. "Gentlemen, it would be in your best interest to hear me out. I think it is for you to decide whether I lie or not."

The Duke of Chaffington was the first to say, "Let him speak." The others quickly agreed.

Jamie withdrew the roll of parchment. "Naturally, I did not come here expecting you to believe the word of a lowly Scot, but perhaps some of you might recognize the signature and seal of the King of France."

He handed the document to Chaffington who quickly scanned it, and passed it to Haversley.

"It would seem," Chaffington said, "that our friend Rockingham has ambitions even we did not know about."

Haversley skimmed the document. "Good God! It is true! The bastard intends to become King of England and do away with the Prince Regent."

"It isn't like that," Rockingham said. "You misunderstand."

"Why don't you explain to them how it is," Jamie said, "while I take Sophie away from here. With your permission gentlemen, I will give you the letter from King Louis in exchange for his cousin, Sophie de Bourbon. A worthwhile trade for both of us, do you not agree?"

"Yes, yes," Haversley said, still staring at the letter. "By all means, take your lady. You have done us a great service. Take anything you like...except Rockingham, of course."

"My lass is all I want," Jamie said, and he gave Sophie a look that made her heart flip
top-see turvee.

He took her hand. "Come, lass, let us be away from this place."

"Wait!" Rockingham called out. "For the love of God, hear me out!"

The duke's pleas fell upon deaf ears. Sophie and Jamie walked to the door, but the guards blocked their exit.

"The Duke of Rockingham is a traitor to the Crown of England. Let them pass," Chaffington said. "We have no quarrel with them. Please accompany them to the door."

The guards stepped back and fell in behind them.

Sophie stole a quick glance behind her, and saw the look of panic that passed over Rockingham's face.

"It is over, lass," Jamie said, with a voice so nonchalant and unruffled she would have thought he was in the habit of calmly walking out of an enemy stronghold on a daily basis.

Sophie felt the warmth of his hand covering hers, and she was comforted by the strength and courage that she could feel emanating from him.

When they saw Sophie and Jamie approach, the guards at the front entrance threw the doors open and stood aside, allowing them to pass.

As they stepped over the threshold and into the night air, Sophie heard the Duke of Chaffington's chilling voice.

"Close the doors, please."

^Twenty-Six

The world was all before them, where to choose

Their place of rest, and Providence then-guide:

They hand in hand with wandering steps and slow,

Through Eden took their solitary way. —John Milton (1608-1674), English poet.

Paradise Lost
(1667)

They crossed the grass, Jamie still holding fast to her hand as they walked toward the fringe of trees.

"Do you think we should run? What if they change their minds?"

"Your hour has come, lass. Savor the moment."

"I will, but what if they decide to come after
you?"

His chuckle was reassuring. "They willna do that, lass, and I wouldn't want to miss this feeling for the world, for there are not many times in a man's life when he can get the best of the peers of England's realm and then, with their blessing, walk away from it."

They did not walk far before Niall and Bran rode out of the dark shadows with such stealth that they were almost upon them before Sophie even realized they were there.

She noticed they led Corrie, but did not have a horse for her.

"Where are ye wounded?" Niall asked.

"I suffered nary a scratch," Jamie replied, "and neither did my lass"

"Then why are ye walking as if you are attending your own coronation? We need to be away from this place before they discover yer lass is gone."

"All is well, for they gave us their leave... and most politely, too."

Niall and Bran exchanged puzzled looks, so Jamie took it upon himself to give them a briefing on what had transpired.

After a few questions from them he said, "Let us be away from this place. I long for the fresh air o' Scotland."

He lifted Sophie to the saddle and mounted behind her. With his spurs to Corrie's flanks they started off, with Bran riding guard just ahead of them, and Niall acting as the rear guard a few paces back.

There were many questions that needed answers, but there would be time enough for that once they reached Monleigh. There was one question, however, that Sophie wanted to ask him now. "What will happen to Gillian? Do you think she will marry Vilain?"

"Vilain was too smart for that," he said.

"Was? It is over between them?"

"Aye, once Vilain learned of her betrayal it was over between them. I believe his exact words were, 'Once I heard what she did, I knew I could never again lay my head upon that faithless breast.'"

Jamie brushed a kiss across her cheek. "You have nothing to worry about, love. Gillian will never come between us."

Sounds of the night spread over them soft as a cloak. Sophie laid her head against Jamie's chest, and soon became accustomed to the rhythm of hoofbeats and the steady tempo of Jamie's heartbeat.

His brothers remained quiet, alert, keeping to the same pattern as before with an advance guard ahead and a rear guard following behind. The moon was still high in the sky, shining brightly on everything below, as if in competition with the glittering light emitting from a million scattered stars.

They rode without talking, until she saw the first rosy hint of sun balancing itself on the misty top of mountains.

Dawn was fast approaching.

She took a deep breath and burrowed closer to Jamie, his warmth becoming hers, as they rode through the last traces of disappearing night.

Once, she felt him press a kiss upon her head and a tightening of his arms about her as he gathered her closer against him. Corrie's gait was smooth and easy, and Sophie's drowsy head began to nod, until she rested limply against him.

The sounds around her began to dull, and she drifted slowly off to sleep.

She did not wake until the rendezvous with the rest of Jamie's men, when they all turned their faces into the wind and Scotland.

^Epilogue

I wish to believe in immortality—I wish to live with you for ever. —John Keats (1795-1821), English poet. Letter to Fanny Brawne (July 1820).
Letters of John Keats
(H. E. Rollins Ed.;

1958)

Once they were safely ensconced back at Mon-leigh, Sophie told Jamie everything: how her father had died and how the king had commanded her presence at court, how she arranged her escape, and why she was so foolish as to keep her secret from him for so long.

She was not surprised when he asked her the question she knew he would save for last. "Why did you persuade Calum to hand you over to the English?"

Tears gathered in her eyes. She was not sure she could explain her feelings, or explain how she loved him, more than herself, more than her own life. Perhaps a simple answer was best. "There was no life for me without you."

He reached out and wiped the tears away from her face with his thumbs. He cupped her face in his hands and lifted it, so she had no choice but to look at him.

"Lovely Sophie, your eyes always mirrored your heart," he said.

She sniffed and gave him a watery smile. "Why did you refuse to hand me over to the Black Watch, when you knew it meant you would be imprisoned?"

"Because you were mine, and I could easier pluck out my own eye than give you up." He closed his eyes and she could see the anguish on his face. "The thought of losing you...it was almost more than I could bear. You are part of me...you have been a part of me for so long...since that night Tavish brought you to me, I think. It was a gradual thing, for I never knew when I fell in love with you. I only knew that I had...long before I knew who you were. That is why it hurt so much to learn you did not trust me enough to tell me the truth."

She was crying now. ' 'I am sorry. I know you find it hard to forgive me...."

His arms came around her. "Foolish lass, don't you know forgiving is the cure for suffering? Ease your torment. What is past changing is past grief. I love you. That is all that matters now."

She saw the lopsided grin. "Well, not all that matters," he said, and picked her up. He carried her to his bed and lay down beside her. His mouth came down on hers as his hands caressed her shoulders and he pulled her to him.

She knew he was done with talking and explanations. There would be no more tears now— only the joy of forgiveness and reunion. With the ease and skill that seemed second nature to him, he spoke love words against her throat, and told her how much he wanted her and loved her, and what he wanted to do with her.

Her hands combed through the silky length of his black hair, and when she inhaled the scent of him she recalled those long, dark days when she grieved over the loss of him, and how she thought she would never again lie with him, or feel again the breathtaking thrill of impassioned words whispered against her throat. She had known during that horrible separation that she would grow old, never hearing the sound of his laugh, or seeing the gleam of love and desire in his eyes. But most painful of all was to think she would never again love or know she was loved in return.

His hands tortured her now, and she was mindless with wanting. Everywhere he touched, each place he kissed, she felt on fire. She needed this—the feel of his hands touching her with intense desire, the words of commitment, and knowledge they would share their lives together.

He had taught her about desire and showed her what it meant to love, and now she understood the depth of feeling that moved them even further, to something unfathomable and binding. She felt the first flutterings of it beating soft as a bird's wings in her heart. It was a softer thing than passion, and more enduring.

She was consumed with the flush of loving and being in love, and the quickening drive of his impatience tore her mind away from any further thought. She would always remember this moment, and the silky hardness of him, the purls of sensation rippling through her at his slightest touch.

She gasped when his hand slipped lower to caress her stomach, and then lower still. Her legs opened for him and she moaned when she felt the beloved weight of him pressing her down, and felt the hard press of his prick against her, and the rush of feeling when he slipped inside.

Shafts of fire consumed her in waves, each one coming stronger than the one before. Her hands were on the hard muscles of his buttocks, and she felt the awesome power of him when he shuddered and spilled himself inside her. Her blood flowed in hot torrents as passion worked its miracle, and she called out his name as wave after wave gripped her.

When it was over, she was left with a deep kind of quiet that was as powerful as it was intense. Later, when they lay together, their bodies entwined, in the quiet, comfortable moments that come after the passion is spent, he asked her to marry him.

She said yes, of course, and then asked, "When?"

"I was thinking I had robbed ye of a true courtship, so a summer wedding would give me time to woo my lass properly, and then there is Tavish. He canna come home until summer."

"Ah, Tavish. Sweet, teasing Tavish," she said. "We owe him so much, but we can't wait that long, Jamie."

He kissed her. "Why do you say that? I thought you would have wanted him to be here."

"I do! You know I do, but an old Scottish proverb says, 'Tis better to have a lass unwooed than a bairn born out of wedlock."

"A bairn?"

"Aye, in late summer," she said, and Jamie laughed.

He kissed her softly and said, "I will make a Scot out of you yet. As for Tavish, I will send a message to him so he can arrange to come home for our wedding. He will not want to miss that."

"Nor would I want him to. He must be here for such an event. Besides, I long to see him again. I have written my thanks to him for saving my life, but I want to tell him in person."

His heart was were full of love and pride, and he laughed at her with that lazy sort of amusement he always reserved for her. '"Kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sunday,' he said.

Obedient lass that she was, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly, thinking she was a fortunate lass to have the heart of the Earl of Monleigh, the assurance of a wedding, the joy of a bairn and a few lines of Shakespeare tossed in between.

What woman could ask for more?