Conquered by a Highlander Read online

  “She was asleep when I left her, my lord.”

  “Well, wake her up! And her bastard with her! No reason that brat should sleep all day.”

  Captain Gates offered him a brisk nod, then started toward the stairs.

  “There is no need to fetch me, my good captain,” came a soft voice from the top of the stairs.

  Colin watched the woman descend, her pale, wheaten waves falling lightly over her white, flowing gown. ’Twas the woman from the battlements.

  She didn’t look at him. Her eyes, like twin blue seas, churned with a frosty glitter as she set them on the earl.

  “I hope my lord will forgive me for sleeping while he bellowed for me.”

  Colin was tempted to smile at her. Her ability to speak such a humbling falsehood and sound so convincing while doing it impressed him. The truth lay in her eyes if one but looked.

  “I won’t show you mercy next time, Gillian,” he promised, gloating at her surrender. “Now make haste and bring me some wine from the cellar.” He lifted his manicured fingers and snapped at his captain. “Go with her, Gates, and make certain she doesn’t dally or it will cost you a month’s wage.”

  Lord Devon watched them leave the hall on their errand, and then settled his gaze on a serving girl on her way to some chore. He snatched her arm as she passed him and yanked her into his arms.

  “What are you still doing here?” he demanded, lifting his mouth from her neck when he saw Colin. “Who are you?”

  Verra likely yer worst enemy. Colin granted his host his most practiced bow. “I am the man who will lead yer army to victory.”

  Chapter Two

  Lady Gillian Dearly looked over her shoulder on the way toward the wine cellar at the stranger standing with her cousin Geoffrey. She knew by his dark hooded mantle that he was the man who’d watched her from the cliffs. Who was he and what had he been doing resting on the cliff side staring up at the castle? At her? Had he told Captain Gates that he’d seen her in the turrets?

  She hoped not. The only thing worse than the captain discovering that she had risked her virtue alone in the halls was Geoffrey finding out the same. She wasn’t permitted to roam about unescorted for fear that one of her cousin’s hired mercenaries would abduct her. It was an irrational fear—for the most part, at least. Though the men held no particular allegiance to God, the king, or the Earl of Essex’s daughter, they were all too afraid of Captain Gates to touch her. In that, her constant chaperone performed his duties well. She didn’t want to get him into trouble or, Heaven forbid, wake up to find one of her cousin’s other men tailing her, but sometimes she needed the rush of the wind through her hair and the vast horizon filling her vision. She escaped to the turrets often to imagine a different kind of life. Truly, there was no harm in it, but if either man suspected her of possessing a more cunning nature than what she portrayed, they would watch her more intently.

  Both with a completely different purpose.

  George Gates was her cousin’s highest in command, charged from the day she’d arrived here four years ago with the duty of guarding her virtue… or whatever was left of it. But he didn’t protect her from the hounds simply because he’d been hired to. He had become her friend. The only man left in the world that she trusted.

  When they reached the upper cellar, she dipped a silver pitcher into a keg of aged wine and filled it. “This keg is almost empty. We will need another brought up from below.”

  “Where were you when he was calling?”

  She looked up at him leaning his back against the door, watching her with pity softening his expression. She didn’t want it. It did her no good, save to tempt her to weep—and she would never, ever do that.

  “As I said, I was asleep in my bed.”

  Gates regarded her in silence for a moment, knowing full well that masking her expression was a feat she’d never master. Everything, damn her… everything was always right there on her face to read. “If Devon thought for an instant that you looked for a way out…”

  “You know I would never think of running away,” she told him, wiping the lip of the pitcher with her apron and avoiding his gaze while she passed him on her way back to the door. Oh, but how many hundreds of times had she contemplated it, dreamed about it? Not of running—for where could she go alone and with a three-year-old babe at her hip? Edmund: the reason she breathed, schemed, and risked her life sending missives to William of Orange. No, she wouldn’t run. She hoped to walk out of Dartmouth with her head held high and the power of a new king at her back, a new king who, thanks to her, knew the truth about her cousin.

  “Where would I take him?” she asked softly, pausing in the hall at the bottom of the stairs and looking up longingly to where her babe slept soundly in his chamber. “I cannot return to my father. Nor do I ever want to.”

  “Someday”—George moved up behind her and placed a tender hand on her shoulder—“when he has forgiven you…”

  “Forgiven me?” She angled her chin to have a good look at her friend, and then to offer him a disparaging sigh. Was every man her judge, even the ones who didn’t condemn her? Aye, she had a child out of wedlock. Was that a good enough reason to abandon her to hell? “And how long should it take me to forgive him for casting me and my son into my cousin’s cruel hands? When should I forgive my mother for caring more about the haughty opinions of her peers than about the welfare of her youngest daughter and grandchild?”

  Her captain looked away from the cold, hard truth of it. Gillian didn’t blame him. She wished she could, as well. She’d been found guilty of falling foolishly in love and sentenced to live under lock and key inside a fortress overlooking the sea. But she and her child would be free. She would see to it, and then she would never be so foolish again.

  “Let us not speak of my parents anymore.” Gillian lifted her hand to his lapel and brushed a mote of lint away. “Or of me trying to escape Dartmouth. I am strong, and I shall continue to find the strength to wake each morning because of my son. Now come, I would see to Geoffrey’s thirst before Edmund wakes from his nap.”

  He nodded, his composure disintegrating a little at the smile she offered him.

  “About the man who arrived earlier.” He coughed into his fist and led her down the hall.

  Gillian kept her even pace as her heart quickened along with her breath. Had the stranger told him where he’d seen her then? She’d assured George the last time he caught her alone in the turrets that she could handle any man who came upon her. He’d taught her well enough how to use her dagger. But she knew he worried about her, and she didn’t want him to.

  “He might be remaining here,” he continued, urging her to pick up her pace. “If he does, I want you to tell me if he makes any advances toward you.”

  “Of course,” she promised quietly. It was the same promise she made to him whenever any new guardsman joined the garrison.

  “Be wary of him. He arrived as if on thin air.”

  Or from the sea, Gillian corrected silently. “Who is he?”

  “Colin Campbell, relative of the Campbells of Argyll.” He grew quiet for a moment as they walked the hall. Then said, “I don’t trust the Campbells, and this one carries a great number of weapons, all of which I’m certain he knows how to use with great skill, despite his claims to the contrary.”

  “What purpose would he have for disguising his skill?”

  “I’ve no idea.” The captain shared his thoughts with her because there was not a man in his garrison whom he had ever befriended. He was as alone here as she. “But I will tell you this,” he continued absently. “I’ve never seen a man strike, block, and parry while not even looking at his opponent. I will be watching him closely if Devon accepts him for hire.”

  “I will be wary of him,” Gillian promised. Another dangerous mercenary. One more to aid Geoffrey in his quest to see William of Orange take the throne. She was glad for it. The sooner Prince William arrived, the better. She didn’t care about religious upheavals or wh
o sat on the throne. Three and a half years of obeying a cruel madman had hardened her heart to everything but her son. She would do anything to keep Edmund safe, including betraying King James and tolerating her cousin when she had to. She had learned to bend, but by God, she would never break.

  They searched for Geoffrey and finally found him waiting above stairs in his solar with Colin Campbell.

  “Ah, finally, my dear cousin tends to me.” From his seat beside the hearth, Geoffrey lifted his hand and motioned for her to come to him.

  Gillian hesitated. She knew she shouldn’t, but the thought of being close to him made her ill. The Earl of Devon, son of her father’s brother, had demonstrated an unnatural attraction to her from the time they were children and she’d been sent to spend the summer with her relatives. It was the worst summer of her life, having to continually fight off Geoffrey’s advances. She thought he’d forgotten her as the years passed, but when she confessed her delicate condition to her father, Geoffrey had been only too eager to take her under his care. In exchange for hiding away her shame, her father had offered him his troops when Prince William came to England.

  Life at Dartmouth was a nightmare in different shades of gray. Bleak and oppressive, it was no place to raise a child. Geoffrey wanted her for himself and he hated her for letting Edmund’s father spoil her. His words were never tender. His breath always stank of sour wine, and often the scent of sex and sweat clung to his clothes. But she didn’t hate him for those things. She hated him for hating her son.

  He beckoned again, and this time she moved. He didn’t appear angry. She was grateful for that at least. It wasn’t that she was afraid of his temper. She could take the worst he had to offer. But once his mood went sour, there was no peace to be found until he retired to his bed. She did what she could to avoid another miserable day listening to him shout and spew threats at her.

  “Pour us some wine, Gillian.”

  She did as she was told, keeping her eyes averted from his challenging grin and lusty gaze.

  “I will decline, lady. ’Tis too early in the day.”

  She glanced up from the cup she offered to the mercenary and went still as her level gaze met his. Enraptured like an insect to a flame… or a pair of them, she forgot everything, including the need for breath while she stared openly at his beautiful face. His eyes were the only source of light against his dark, flinty visage. Ringed by raven lashes and painted in a dozen different shades of green and gold, they shimmered with a power that, for a moment, made her feel sorry for any who came against him. Oddly, his voice was just as beguiling. It covered her like a thick blanket, warm and husky, with a slight melodious burr belonging to the Scots. When Geoffrey announced his declaration to be nonsense, he blinked slowly, breaking the spell his penetrating gaze had cast over her.

  “It is never too early to drink from my fine cellar. Isn’t that correct, Gates?” While he spoke, Geoffrey moved his palm over her knuckles and she gritted her teeth, trying not to shiver as if the cold claws of death had just come for her.

  Pushing off the door, Captain Gates nodded and stepped forward to take the pitcher from Gillian and pour his own drink.

  Her task done, she moved to step back, but Geoffrey’s hand on the small of her back stopped her. “Unless it is tainted with poison. Captain,” he said, without taking his eyes off hers, “you drink it first.”

  Gillian wanted to laugh in his face, though the thought of poisoning him had crossed her mind a number of times. Unfortunately, there were little or no plants in the vicinity that she knew of that would do the trick. He remained silent while George downed his wine. A moment later, when the captain didn’t crumple to the floor, clutching his throat, her cousin smiled up at her. “You don’t have the courage to kill me, do you, Gillian?” He traced his fingertips over the curve of her hip, then up her arm, to a curl dangling beneath her breast.

  “If that is all,” she murmured, stepping away from him and doing everything in her power not to bolt out of the solar, out of her gown, and into the nearest cesspit to cleanse herself of his touch, “I will go tend to—”

  “You will remain exactly where you are, wench. And don’t speak again.” The desire in his eyes turned dark with malice.

  She tightened her jaw, keeping the hatred she felt for him from spilling forth. That was what he wanted: for her to lose her control and give him an excuse to take Edmund from her. The bastard was jealous of her son—and with good reason—and since he had the power to make her worst nightmare come to pass, she did as he ordered. For the time being. Besides, she didn’t mind keeping quiet, since she had little to say to him, save to tell him to rot in hell.

  “You will tend to me,” he warned her quietly. “Your bratling sleeps, does he not? And in a soft bed, because of my mercy. Do not tax me or I’ll have him put out with the horses.”

  Her fists trembled at her sides, but she kept them there instead of around Geoffrey’s throat. She suspected he knew that if he harmed Edmund, she would kill him. Still, that didn’t stop him from threatening her babe every chance he found. He didn’t need her here. He had servants to do his bidding and to see to his private needs. He simply enjoyed keeping her from the one thing that gave her any joy.

  “Pay no heed to my cousin.” He offered the mercenary an apologetic smile for the interruption. “She may appear a noble woman, but she is nothing more than a common whore with a bastard chained to her ankles. I was kind enough to take her in when her father cast her out and she does nothing but defy me.”

  Gillian breathed slowly, willing herself not to flinch. This was nothing she hadn’t heard a dozen times before—spoken in front of anyone who cared to listen. Geoffrey did all to strip her of her dignity, even laughing when his men whispered the same. How else would any woman want him unless she was nothing more than a broken, empty shell?

  Well, he was a fool if he thought she would ever become that woman.

  “My lord,” Mr. Campbell said softly, “I would prefer not to speak of war in a lady’s presence.”

  It must have been his sheer boldness that made Geoffrey laugh. The Highlander didn’t smile back. In fact, if not for the twitch of his tightened jaw, Gillian would have thought him to be carved in stone.

  “Regardless of what you would prefer,” Geoffrey said, sobering when the mercenary didn’t share his humor, “she will remain.”

  “As ye wish.” Campbell offered him a slight nod, then caught her gaze with an intensity that threatened to consume her and everything around her.

  She felt George’s hand on her arm, pulling her to stand closer to him. She went without argument, lowering her gaze, sacrificing her pride for peace and quiet, for her son’s sake.

  “Captain,” Geoffrey said, his anger mollified for now, “Mr. Campbell here thinks to take over my army.”

  “I did not say that, my lord,” Mr. Campbell corrected him coolly.

  “What then did you say?”

  “I can lead ye to victory.”

  “Against the king?” George put to him bluntly.

  “Aye, I know the numbers of his army, his navy, and, most important, his Royal Life Guards. I know who among his highest ranking officers commands his loyalty and who does not.”

  Gillian listened with one ear. As many of Geoffrey’s hired army already had, this mercenary, too, could provide her with useful information she could send to William. She’d found favor with the Dutch prince after corresponding with him for the last year. He confessed to owing her much and promised to free her and Edmund from her cousin’s care. She hoped he would keep his word. But her hope was a fragile thing. She didn’t trust men and their words. A lesson she had learned well so far.

  “How do you know these things, Campbell?” Geoffrey queried, examining his fingernail.

  “I fought alongside many of them as a soldier in the Life Guard.”

  “Why did you leave?” Captain Gates asked.

  “Because when he captured the Earl of Argyll after my cousin’s fail
ed rebellion, the king executed him.”

  Geoffrey laughed and downed his wine. “You Scots are a loyal bunch of barbarians.”

  Campbell crooked his mouth ever so slightly. “Not a poor combination to have at yer back.”

  “Indeed,” Geoffrey agreed and motioned to Gillian to refill his cup. “You will begin your training tomorrow. My steward will pay you at the end of each month.”

  The men continued to speak about what needed to be done to restore the kingdom to its proper glory. With Geoffrey’s attention on his soon-to-be, hopeful victory over the Catholics, Gillian was free to give closer inspection to the stranger.

  She liked the way he wore his dark hair sheared close to his head. It gave him a cleaner look than the rest of Geoffrey’s guardsmen. He wore no beard to catch bits of his food, but a shadow remained along his jaw, defining harsh, unrelenting lines and a slightly darker dimple in his chin. His expression didn’t change all that much whether he spoke of battle or his family in Breadalbane.

  George was correct about him. He did carry a great number of weapons. There were two daggers—that she could see—tucked into each of his black leather boots. Two pistols in his belt and another dagger tied to his hip beside one of his two swords. Good Lord, was he readying for an all-out war that he meant to fight on his own?

  Gillian sighed and looked toward the door, hoping Edmund hadn’t awakened yet.

  A knock sounded, startling her.

  “Your pardon, my lord.” Margaret, Geoffrey’s favorite serving wench, curtsied after he allowed entry. “The boy awakens.”

  The boy. Even the servants didn’t give Edmund a name. Gillian nodded, thankful to be leaving. When she moved to go though, her cousin’s fingers around her wrist stayed her.

  “Captain,” he said, holding her still. “See to the child. Take Campbell with you and show him his sleeping quarters. I would have a word with my cousin.” When George hesitated, Geoffrey’s expression hardened. “I’ll send for de Atre to bring her to you when I’m done with her.” When neither man moved, he stood. “Leave us!”