Devil in a Kilt (48 page)

"Where
is my lady?" he asked, his tone icy.

"‘Tis
the God's truth Kenneth told you," a giant of a man spoke up, hitching his
ill-fitting braies into place as he stepped from the trees. "Stole a
horse, yer lady wife did," he added. "They must have escaped in the
night."

Relief
washed over Duncan, swelling his throat and making his heart slam roughly
against his ribs. "The men you lost whilst attacking my castle shall serve
to avenge the lives of my crofters. Should any of you care to seek revenge for
Kenneth's death, step forth now," he challenged Kenneth's men as soon as
he could speak. "Otherwise, cast down your weapons and be gone. You may
go in peace. But be warned, if e'er you set foot on MacKenzie land again, you
will not live to regret your mistake."

One
by one, Kenneth's men nodded humbly, relinquished their arms, and departed.
When the last one was gone, Duncan turned to Fergus. "See he is properly
laid to rest," he ordered, glancing briefly at Kenneth's still form.

To
the rest of his men, he added, "We shall search without cease until we
find my lady and child. Pray God they are unharmed."

She'd
taken the wrong direction.

For
hours, it seemed, they'd ridden in circles, covering a great distance but
going nowhere. Linnet's frustration reached unbearable proportions as her
surprisingly able mount carried them past the same landmarks... over and over
again.

Let
the plague take her if her ineptness caused them to fall back into Kenneth's
hands!

Then,
just when the shards of her dwindling hope began to give way to desperation,
riders crested a far-off ridge. They rode slowly, obviously searching, scanning
the landscape.

Linnet's
breath caught in her throat, and sheer joy filled her to bursting. ‘Twas
Duncan. Even at such a distance, she could tell. He'd come for them at last.
And with him, what appeared to be his entire household.

Nay,
their
household, for ne'er had she felt more a MacKenzie than at this
moment as her husband shielded his eyes and pointed in their direction before
tearing down the hill toward them.

"Robbie,
we're saved! ‘Tis your father," she cried, kicking the palfrey into a
swift canter. "Hold on, laddie, we'll soon be home."

Impatient
to reach Duncan, Linnet repeatedly dug her heels into the horse's sides. When a
rock-strewn burn suddenly loomed up out of nowhere, ‘twas too late to swerve,
too late to do aught before the palfrey sailed across the stream, flinging them
both from its back.

"Nay!"
The denial ripped from Duncan's throat as he witnessed Linnet and Robbie hurtle
through the air, then plummet to the ground... his lady onto a grassy
embankment, his son headfirst onto the ground near a large boulder.

Dizzy
with horror, sick with dread, he spurred his horse toward where they lay, still
and unmoving, near the innocent-looking burn that might have brought about what
Kenneth had failed to do: rob him of his loved ones... his life.

His
men rode heavy behind him, but his was the first horse to plunge into the burn.
Duncan swung down from his saddle midstream. "Linnet! Robbie!" He
crashed through the rushing waters, his chest so tight with anguish he could
scarce breathe.

When
he reached them, he took one quick look at Robbie then tore his gaze away,
unable to bear the sight of the lad, his body limp and twisted, his head
resting at an odd angle against a large rock. Terror and remorse clawed at his
insides, killing him as surely as Kenneth's dagger would have done had the
blade sank into his heart.

Bending
over Linnet, he grabbed fistfuls of her cloak and buried his face in the silken
warmth of her hair. "God in heaven don't let them be dead," he
pleaded, his voice thick with pain. "Dinna take them from me now."

"Duncan?"

His
wife's voice, faint but oh-so-precious, reached through his grief, a shining
beacon spilling light onto the darkness threatening to consume him.

If
she'd survived the fall, mayhap Robbie had, too.

Unable
to stand it otherwise, and his throat too constricted for him to speak, Duncan
scooped them both into his arms, holding them as tightly as he dared,
willing
them whole.

He
had no idea how long he held them thusly, but of a sudden the pounding of
horses' hooves, the sound of splashing water, and a chaos of men's raised
voices was all around them.

"Have
a care, laddie, or would you squeeze them to death?" Fergus scolded,
reining in beside them.

The
old man's voice held a peculiar note, causing Duncan to glance up at him.
"Close yer mouth, boy," Fergus snapped, wiping a tear from his
leathery cheek. "Or have you ne'er seen a man show his feelings? ‘Tis
something I'd hoped you'd learned by now."

Learned
by now?

Saints
a-mercy, could the old fool not see the tears swimming in Duncan's own eyes?

Did
he not ken Duncan held his dear ones so fiercely because he feared what he
might see when he released them?

Dreaded
he might discover Robbie's chest no longer rose and fell with the sweet breath
o' life?

'"‘Tis
hurting me, you are," Linnet breathed, her words so soft he scarce heard
her. "Let me see Robbie," she urged, her voice stronger.

Duncan
released her at once, then watched, his fear a cold weight on his shoulders, as
she slowly pushed to a sitting position and eased Robbie onto her lap. Gently,
she smoothed her fingers over an ugly bluish lump on the boy's forehead.

Then
a tiny smile curved her lips.

Before
Duncan could digest what the fleeting smile meant, she clutched his arm.
"We must be gone from here, Kenneth could be upon us any moment."

"Kenneth
is dead," Duncan said, his half brother's fate far from his mind as he
continued to stare at the knot on Robbie's head. The lad's eyes were closed,
his face, pale and waxen. And, saints preserve him, his wee chest still.

Too
still.

‘Twas
just as he'd feared.

With
great effort, Duncan tore his gaze from the boy, his heart unwilling to accept
what his eyes would have him believe. "Is he ... will he live?" he
forced himself to ask. "Can you ... can you see if my son will live?"

His
wife returned his penetrating stare, a question of her own in her eyes.
"Did you say your
son?"

"Aye,
my son," Duncan said, his voice loud and bold, as if he'd dare any and all
gathered round them to deny it. "He is my son no matter from whose loins
he is sprung."

No
sooner were the words spoken than Linnet's eyes filled with tears. She gave him
a wobbly smile and simply stared at him, her lower lip trembling, whilst his
men pressed closer, the lot of them making all kinds of womanish noises.

Sniffles
and snorts.

Babble.

Duncan
glared at them, then wished he hadn't.

There
wasn't a dry eye amongst them.

He
looked back at his wife. "I asked you a question. I would that you answer
it."

"And
I shall. With the greatest pleasure. Robbie will live. I have seen and am
certain." She paused, beaming at him. "Your
son
will
live."

A
great resounding cheer rose from his men, and it was a good thing, for Duncan
himself was speechless. The heart he'd been cursing but hours before swelled to
a most painful degree, and the tears he'd been trying not to shed flowed freely
down his cheeks.

His
son,
she'd said.

His
son!

A
fool wouldna missed the import of those two words, the way she'd said them.

And
he wasn't a fool.

"So,
my lady," he straggled to push the words past the hot lump in his throat,
"just how long have you known that?"

"From
the beginning," she said. "From the very beginning."

Eilean Creag Castle, The
Great Hall A Fortnight Later
...

"Does
she not make a bonnie bride?" Linnet peered down the length of the high
table at Elspeth. "I dinna think I've e'er seen her so happy."

Duncan
took a swallow of the hippocras made especially for Fergus and Elspeth's
wedding feast before he answered. "Aye, she does, but her old goat of a
new husband looks a wee bit too comfortable in my chair."

"‘Tis
only for this night. You ken neither of them would ever—" Linnet began,
then snapped her mouth shut and smiled when she saw the teasing glint in Duncan's
deep blue eyes.

But
then his expression changed, turning solemn, as his gaze slid past her to settle
on Robbie. The boy sat at the opposite end of the table, and appeared to enjoy
being held on his lady wife's eldest brother's lap.

Ranald
MacDonnell was whispering something in the lad's ear and whatever it was
must've been highly amusing, for Robbie giggled so hard his shoulders shook
with laughter.

Across
from them, Linnet's favorite brother, Jamie, and Duncan's first squire,
Lachlan, both seemed spellbound by whate'er tall tale Sir Marmaduke was
weaving for them.

Duncan
purposely caught the Sassunach's attention and lifted his chalice in a silent
toast.

In
honor of the sanctity of the day, he'd generously desist from telling the two
young men to believe only half of the Englishman's silver-tongued tales of romance,
chivalry, and honor.

"You've
grown quiet, my lord," his wife's soft voice called him from his musings.
"Are you truly not displeased with me for keeping silent about Robbie for
so long?"

Duncan
glanced back at his son. The lad was now showing Ranald his wooden sword. A
surge of fierce pride flooded Duncan as he watched him. "And why," he
said, his gaze still on his son, "did you not tell me sooner?"

"But
I have told you, because it should not have mattered. I wanted you to love him
for himself."

"And
I do. I have always done so," Duncan said, and knew it to be the truth.
"I was simply too stubborn to admit it."

Linnet
laid a hand on his arm. "And you give me your word naught else is
amiss?"

He
turned to look at her then and, as so oft of late, his heart swelled at the
mere sight of her.

And
his heart wasn't all what swelled.

"‘Tis
more than my word I am wont to give you, lady," he said, adjusting his
tunic to hide the telltale bulge in his braies. That accomplished, he trailed
his fingers up the length of her thigh. "Naught ails me what will not be
seen to in our chamber this eve."

She
blushed, her sweet face turning pinker than Elspeth's. "But your wounds,
I dinna th—"

"My
wounds are healed," Duncan insisted, offering Mauger a choice tidbit of
roasted meat as he spoke. "Think you I am less hardy than Mauger?" He
smoothed his hand over the old dog's head, careful to avoid the newly healed
scar above the mongrel's right eye.

"I
will not tell you what I saw him doing this morn," he added with a bold
wink.

The
pink tinge on his lady wife's cheeks deepened to crimson. "‘Twas good of
you to let my brothers stay to see Elspeth wed," she said, artfully
changing the subject.

"I
told you long ago, I am not an ogre. It was good of them to inform us of your
sire's passing, and a noble gesture to offer help with the rebuilding of the
burned crofters' cottages. Ranald will make a fine laird. He tells me he's made
peace with John MacLeod, too." He leaned toward her and gently brushed her
lips with a kiss. "Aye, your brothers are welcome here, and, come spring,
I shall take you to visit your sister Caterine."

"I
never thought I'd see any of them again."

"And
I ne'er thought I'd see Fergus wed," he said, grazing his fingers over her
hair.

"They
do look happy," Linnet said, a strange thickness in her voice. "I believe
they are truly in love."

Duncan
sat back and crossed his arms. "I daresay they are."

"And
you, milord?" The words were hesitant, barely audible.

"I
what?" He glanced sharply at her.

"I
was wondering if... ah ... if you love me?"

"If
I love you?"

"Aye."
She nodded. "I should like to know."

"Well,
then, I shall tell you. Aye, I love you. I believe I have since the moment we
clasped hands through the marriage stone."

Linnet's
brows lifted. "Ah ... so you do believe in the legend's magic?"

"I
believe in
your
magic," Duncan said, and smiled. "You restored
everything I'd thought lost to me. My heart, my life, my very soul."

An
infinitely pleased look settled over his wife's sweet face. "You did not
make it easy for me to do so," she said.

"Nay?"
Duncan gave her a look of feigned surprise. "I would think just the
opposite to be true."