In the Highlander's Bed (9 page)

“You were a fop?” she asked, not able to picture him in theton , let alone worrying about the cut of his coat or the style of his hair, which right now was wind-blown and sun-kissed.

“I was the dandiest of the dandies,” he said. “I studied law by day and begged entrance to all theton nish gatherings by night. I said I believed in justice, but I didn’t even know what it was.”

“Your father’s death changed that.”

“That, and realizing that everyone I confided in, everyone I had thought a friend, didn’t give a care. The death of a crusading Scottish magistrate meant nothing when one was planning the next ball to attend and whether to wear a green coat or a red one. Some even warned me to correct my accent or change my name. That’s when I opened those books and read them with purpose.”

“You wanted justice,” she said.

“Aye. And I couldn’t have it. You asked earlier about the law. The law is expedient, Constance. The ones in power set the rules. But once I have that sword—”

“You make the rules,” she finished for him.

“And I will make men who use the law to their own advantage pay for their sins.”

He believed he would do it. He had enough conviction to save the world…but she knew better. “There was never justice for my mother and brother’s death.”

“Because the Indians who murdered them were never caught?”

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“No, because of the nature of war,” she said sadly. “Individual lives are not important.”

“They are to those who loved them.”

Before she could answer, they heard Thomas call out Gordon’s name. A moment later he came riding up to them, excitement in his eyes. “I can’t believe you haven’t ridden farther,” he chastised as he reined to a stop. “About a mile from here is a village beside a loch. Gordon, they’ve heard of you. They know who we are.”

“And?” Gordon said.

“And?”Thomas repeated as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “And they think you’re a bloody hero. You are a legend to them. I told you we needed to leave camp more often, that we needed to be out with the people.”

“Do you think it wise to be so free with my name?” Gordon asked. “The English will know where we are.”

Thomas frowned. “The English don’t think we are a threat. Not yet. But the crofters know us. They call you the Rebel Lachlan. They haven’t lost faith, Gordon. They are waiting for you and for the army we are building.”

“Well, then, let’s go meet them,” Gordon said, and both men urged their horses to a trot.

Thomas had not been jesting. As the road took them down toward a loch, they met small groups of people walking in the direction they were going. When the Scots saw Gordon, they put up a shout, cheering for “Rebel Lachlan.”

A sprawling crofter’s hut was around the next crook in the road by the loch. Gathered in the yard around Robbie and Brian were about thirty Scots.

The air was festive and alive. Women bustled around long tables fashioned from planks set up in the front yard, and benches had been created from logs and the same loose lumber. Breads, cheeses, sausages, and whatever the Scots had to offer was spread out on the tables. The men stood by the road drinking, while their children kept a look out for the Rebel Lachlan. When they saw him, they put up such an excited cry, even Constance had to smile and feel a bit proud to be a part of the moment.

A thin man came forward to greet Gordon. He removed his hat from his balding pate and fell to his knees.

“Welcome, Gordon Lachlan,” the man said, “and welcome to my home. It is a glorious moment when I should meet thee.”

“You don’t kneel to me,” Gordon answered. He dismounted, leaving Constance in the saddle. “Come to your feet, man. We are all free men here.” He offered his hand. ”What is your name?”

“William Gunn,” the crofter replied, rising.

“William Gunn, it is my honor to meet you,” Gordon said.

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Gunn grinned his pleasure at such respect. “My Beth has thrown open her larder. What is mine is yours,”

he replied. He nodded to his wife, who had come to stand shyly by the door. Twin daughters of about four years of age held onto her skirts. She bobbed a curtsey to Gordon, who bowed an acknowledgment.

Mr. Gunn ordered his sons to take care of the horses while he set a table and chairs outside for the meal. Neighbors came, bearing what food they had to offer.

No one questioned Constance’s presence. Gordon helped her from the horse but he was quickly engulfed by the growing number of crofters who had traveled to meet him. Her care was left to Robbie.

“What does that mean, ‘the Lachlan’?” Constance asked Robbie. They stood by one of the makeshift plank benches and tables.

“It means they recognize him as a chieftain,” Robbie answered. “Our Gordon is making a name for himself. And he is right. With the Sword of the MacKenna, there will be no one who can stop him. Not since the Bruce, that greatest of all Scottish heroes, has there been such a leader.”

“Does he receive this sort of reception often?” she asked.

“Aye, farther north. But this is the first time they’ve gathered for him around here,” he answered. “It’s a good sign. Our numbers will grow.”

“What are the two of you whispering about?” Thomas said, coming up to where they stood. He carried a jug of hard cider hooked between two fingers of one hand and lifted it to his lips for a healthy swig.

“She was asking me a question,” Robbie said. His eyes darted with disapproval at the jug.

Thomas sneered at the unspoken criticism.

“Your sweet Sylvie is not going to want you sharing confidences with an Englishwoman,” Thomas said.

“Best you let me watch her. I’d not be so soft on her the way you and Gordon are.”

To his credit, Robbie stayed at his post. “Go on,” he answered. “There are ladies enough here for you.”

“But it’s not one of them I’ve a mind to sample,” Thomas said. “’Tis this English hellion. I’d like to see if she thinks she can pull the tricks on me that she has tried on Gordon.”

“Thomas,” Robbie warned, but Constance saw a chance to put him in his place.

The edge of the plank bench was beneath his jug. She sat abruptly on the far end. Her weight upset the balance of the plank and lifted it. Thomas’s jug went flying.

For a second he didn’t realize what had happened to it and looked around in comical surprise. The crofters who had witnessed her actions burst into laughter, which was when Thomas realized he’d been tricked.

“I’mAmerican ,” Constance corrected him. ”An American hellion.”

Thomas grumbled something threatening, but Robbie said a few words in his ear and he backed away,
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his pride mollified when a pretty young woman fetched his jug of cider for him.

“I cannot like the man,” Robbie muttered.

“Gordon does,” she noticed.

A high spot of color rose to Robbie’s lean cheeks as if, perhaps, he had not meant to speak aloud.

“Thomas knows how to fight and can keep the men in line. Gordon needs that, just as he needs all of us.”

Constance murmured her agreement but heard the discontent in his voice.

She glanced at Gordon. The day’s earlier clouds had dissipated and sunlight glinted off the hard planes of the table and plates and the gold in his hair.

He listened as William Gunn and his neighbors spoke of how times were changing, about how they wished they could leave their hearths and families and march with him.

But they couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

Constance thought it sad that these men so easily accepted the theft of their heritage. If this was her fight, she would have sided with the rebels. Sometimes, you had to fight for what you wanted.

These men would admire “the Lachlan,” but they would not die for him—not unless he had a very certain chance of winning. The sort of chance this fabled Sword of the MacKenna could give him.

In the meantime, Thomas vied against Gordon for attention. The sweet young thing that had helped him earlier now let him drape an arm around her shoulder while she giggled her pleasure. Anytime the conversation became too exclusively on Gordon, the giant would interject his own thoughts.

It seemed to Constance that in spite of being relaxed, Gordon was keeping a watchful eye on this second in command. She wondered what thoughts were going through his head. She suspected that if Thomas didn’t become more circumspect, he might soon find himself not as important to the clan leader.

It was when Thomas brought up the bounty on Gordon’s head that tension openly rose between the two men.

One of the Gunn boys asked, “Is there a price on your head?”

Gordon shook his head as if ready to deny such a thing, but Thomas answered with a cheerful, “Aye, he has fifty pounds on his head, but I’ll wager that number is multiplied by hundreds once we attack the English. We’ll all have prices on our heads then.”

The crofters were impressed. Fifty pounds would be a fortune to these people.

The giant opened his mouth to brag again when Gordon stood. “Enough, Thomas,” he said. “We’ve overstayed Mr. Gunn’s hospitality.” He nodded to the crofter and placed some coins on the table. “You and your wife have been most generous. May you never rue the day our paths crossed.”

Mr. Gunn rose. “You need never fear anything from me or mine. ’Tis an honor to meet you and one I shall tell to my grandchildren.”

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A few minutes later they were mounted and on their way.

Thomas was in high spirits. He rode beside Gordon, a cider-fueled grin on his face.

“You should be careful what you say, Thomas,” Gordon said quietly. Riding on the saddle in front of him, Constance felt the tension in his body.

The giant scowled. “Are you talking about the bounty?”

“You know I am.” He met Thomas’s eye. “The more said, the less freedom we have to carry out our plan. Don’t be so easy with your tongue in the future.”

Thomas’s eyes hardened. He looked away a moment. Constance braced herself for a battle. To her surprise, the giant begrudgingly conceded. “You are right, Gordon. But there is a part of me that wants action. They should know what we are doing for them.”

“They already know. You saw them today. But just as they cheer us on, they could betray us.”

“I’d kill the man who would betray you.”

“I know you would,” Gordon answered, and Constance understood then why he had Thomas at his side. She’d not thought to find such loyalty in Britain. She’d witnessed it on the frontier, but not here. In London and at Madame Lavaliere’s, she had gained the impression that everyone looked only to their own needs.

Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing to be kidnapped by these Scottish rebels. Perhaps she had something in common with them.

She was anxious to be done with the trip and tired of riding, but now she was curious about Gordon’s clan. She wanted to meet the rebels and see if her suspicions were correct, if they were like her neighbors back home. Her desire to reach theNovus before it sailed faded a bit. She no longer felt so passionately desperate.

Questions rose in her mind…but everyone had grown quiet. The full meal seemed to have dampened their spirits. No one spoke. The men seemed anxious to reach the camp, each lost in his own thoughts.

They’d been riding for two hours, the horses moving steadily into the heart of the mountains. Constance had fallen asleep again. She woke to the sound of a dog barking.

Groggily, she looked around. There was no dog. They were riding downhill into a valley. Tall pines bordered a path wide enough for one horse.

The dog barked again, and then Thomas answered it with a howl of his own. The bark had been a signal. No wonder it hadn’t sounded natural to her ears.

They were coming to the rebel camp.

The pace of the horses picked up, a surer sign than any that the end of the journey was in sight. A scent drifted across the air. The smell of a campfire.

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Constance straightened and leaned forward. She’d been to Shawnee camps and wondered how this Scottish one would differ.

They’d just reached a bend in the road when a pack of children came whooping down upon them, calling “Gordon” at the top of their lungs. Their clothes were homespun and they appeared full of energy and life.

The children danced alongside the horses, asking questions and staring at Constance. One boy with hair the red of a ripe apple even boldly said, “Is that the Englishwoman?”

“It is,” Gordon said, and the children gave a loud cheer, making Constance’s cheeks flame with the unwanted attention.

A few minutes later they came upon the Scottish camp, and Constance caught herself gawking.

It was like none she’d ever seen before. It was huge and a veritable hodgepodge of humanity. Tents, lean-tos, daub huts, and any other manner of makeshift quarters were haphazardly spread out along the shore of a silvery loch.

Gordon’s followers weren’t only young, strong men like Robbie and Brian. There were hordes of children and women of every size and age. A few goats, several sheep, dogs, and a pig wandered freely.

Most of the men, many well past their prime, looked like farmers who wouldn’t know how to shoot, let alone wield a sword.

These people reminded her of settlers who came to the frontier because they had nowhere else to go.

They lacked direction and passion. They were the ones who couldn’t survive.

“Thisis your rebellion?” she asked, realizing too late that in her shock and disappointment, she’d spoken aloud…and they were the wrong words to say.

Seven

The pleasure Gordon felt at accomplishing this mission, the pride he’d had that at last he was turning the tide of events in his favor, evaporated at her words.