Highland Jewel (Highland Heroes #1)

Chapter 14

The loch was as dark as night and still at this early hour, its midnight-blue waters smooth and glassy.

Rose stared at the silent lake, pulling the red-toned tartan of the MacAulays more closely about her shoulders, though it was not cold. "What do you call this place?" she asked.

"It is called the Great Glen," Leith answered, watching her carefully.

"The lake," she corrected, seeming mesmerized by the eerie feelings here. "What do you call the lake?"

His careful perusal of her went unseen for she had eyes only for the wide, still expanse of fresh water. "It is called Loch Ness, wee lass. Why do ye ask?"

Rose shook her head. "No reason," she said faintly, and after a moment more, turned to urge the black mare away. But a movement caught her eye and for the flash of an instant she sensed a great, looming presence in the lake. "God's teeth!" she gasped, twisting abruptly about.

There was a flutter of water, causing ripple upon ripple that reached in wider and wider circles toward the shore—but little else, save perhaps a splotch of dark at the very center of the wavering ripples. Nothing but that and the spine-tingling sense of something's eerie passing. Small hairs raised along Rose's arms in shivering response. "What was it?" she whispered, her gaze still fixed on that spot where the dark shadow had been. But Leith only shook his head.

"I dunna ken, lass. Some say 'tis the monster of the loch." He shrugged. "The waters of Loch Ness are deep and chill and could hide many mysteries. Though ..." He canted his head slightly, his eyes dark in the early-morning light. "Ye would ken the answer better than I, wee Rose, for 'tis said that the creature of the loch most oft appears to those gifted with the sight."

"The sight?" Again her words were whispered, but she turned her gaze now, no less frightened and wide, to his face.

"Aye, lass," he said softly. "But ye've na need to fear, for we in the Highlands have naught but respect for those so gifted." He turned the white stallion northward, calling over his shoulder, "Yer sight will make our tale all the more believable, for many MacAulays are blessed with it. Owen's sister is said to see much that others canna, and even the auld MacAulay sometimes knows that which canna be explained."

Rose watched him go, and then, feeling one last shiver, turned to gaze momentarily into the dark, bottomless waters. Ripples again, but nothing else. "God's knees," she whispered, and, turning the mare, hurried after the Scotsman.

"We will spend the night here," Leith said, drawing Beinn to a halt in the shade of a gnarled pine.

Rose sighed and stretched, weary from the endless hours in the saddle and grateful for the reprieve, though the sun was farther up than it usually was when they stopped for the night.

It had been a rare day of azure skies and unusual warmth. The land was rugged all around, graced with endless, windswept slopes, bodies of crystal water, and sheltered, timbered glens.

It was in just such a glen where they now dismounted. Rose placed her knuckles to the small of her back and arched again, trying to draw the ache out. "How far till we reach your home?" she asked, fretting over what was to come, yet eager to have the journey behind her.

"Our home," he corrected, taking Maise's reins from her hand to lead both horses toward a small, nearby lochan. "And we are there."

"What?" She all but spat the word. "We are on Forbes' land?"

"Aye." He led their mounts to the water's edge, letting them drop their muzzles to the clear blue waters.

"We are there and you did not tell me?" she persisted.

"Ye didna ask," he replied, nonplussed as he patted his stallion's pearly neck.

Rose pursed her lips, placing her hands to her hips. "You, Scotsman, are a—"

"Now, lass," he chided, leaning casually against Beinn's saddle. "Remember, ye too are Scots now."

"I am n—"

"Aye. Ye are," he argued, raising a palm to halt her denial. "For ye agreed to play the game and the game begins now. We Scots are na a trusting lot, and me kinsmen may be scouting verra near. We wouldna want them to hear ye deny yer heritage, now, would we, lass?"

As he said the words, one corner of his fine mouth lifted, as if her predicament gave him great pleasure, and for a brief moment Rose wondered if she might manage to push him into the water if she rushed him.

From near the horses, Leith watched her watch him. She might not have been Scots in fact, but in spirit... He nearly chuckled aloud, reading her thoughts clearly—seeing her imagine his fall into the water, then watching her turn away as she decided she herself was not ready for the drenching she would probably take with him.

Ah, yes. In spirit she was Scots.

Supper had been eaten and the remainder of the food packed away when Leith rose to stretch the kinks from his legs.

"Best to find sleep early this night, lass," he said, looking to the north. “Tomorrow may well be a hard day."

"Hard?" Rose asked, looking up from her spot near the fire. "We could not possibly ride faster than we did today."

"Nay." He shifted his gaze to he her. "The ride will na be hard. 'Tis the meeting with the MacAulay that ye may find difficult."

"You mean..." Rose jerked to her feet, her eyes wide and stunned, her fists clenched. "My father?" she breathed. "We'll meet with my father... tomorrow?"

Leith raised his brows at her. She played the part of the old laird's lost daughter very well when the mood suited her. "Aye." He nodded. "Yer father."

"W-well... hell!" she sputtered. "Why didn't you tell me? Let us get to your holdings that I might make myself presentable."

Leith was truly taken aback and struggled for a moment to keep the surprise from his face. After all, she had entered into this bargain unwillingly. What now made her so eager for this encounter?

"That is to say," she said, wringing her hands, "if I am to play this game, I will play it well. 'Twould be unseemly for me to meet my lord as I am."

His eyes did not leave her. "We willna go to Glen Creag first," he said pensively, "for I dare na wait longer. Though we are on Forbes land, we are verra close to the MacAulay border. 'Twill save time to go straight there."

"But..." Rose pressed her palms to the gown he had given her some days since. It was a fine garment, and far better than anything Rose had worn in the past, but it had seen hard wear and much rain and hardly looked its best. "I do not mean to be petty, Leith," she said softly, "but if I am to meet the laird of the clan MacAulay as his daughter, would it not be wise for me to look the part?"

Look the part? Leith repeated in his mind. He remained silent, still watching her. Her hair was loose again, her small oval face deadly serious and her unearthly violet eyes blazed.

Never in all his life had he imagined a woman who would look the part of a Scottish laird's daughter more completely than she, and for one moment he was sorely tempted to take her into his arms and tell her so.

He clenched his fists, silently cursing himself for his vow of self-control and finally turned to rummage in the large saddlebags that held their possessions.

Drawing out a parcel, he carried the bundle to her. His gaze met hers in a momentary spark of brown against violet.

The campsite was quiet and still as their thoughts and desires whispered together in unheard tones.

From a nearby oak an owl hallooed, its lonesome call breaking the spell.

Rose drew a deep breath, sucking in her lower lip before shifting her gaze to her feet.

The small muscle jumped in Leith's cheek, but he relaxed with a conscious effort and finally spoke. "I have planned hard for this meeting," he admitted softly. "And in the hopes of finding the auld laird's daughter alive and with much the same build as her mother before her, I brought this as a gift." With a sharp, single nod he set the package into her hands. "It is yers now."

Again their gazes met—hard, needy. And then without another word he turned and strode to the water's edge.

Rose blinked once, then, bending, placed the bundle on the ground. It was wrapped in lightly oiled skin and leather bindings which she drew quickly away. Inside was a linen cloth, and inside that, carefully protected from the elements of hard travel, lay a gown.

She took it out like a precious jewel, for in truth she had never seen anything so fine. It was forest-green velvet. The skirt and sleeves were slashed and in the folds of those cuts the fabric was finest yellow silk.

She drew the dress reverently to her cheek, feeling the rich softness of its nap before she lifted her face.

Leith had turned and was watching her, his expression solemn and shadowed.

"It is..." she breathed softly, then hunched her shoulders and shook her head, suddenly remembering who she was. "It is too rich a garment for me," she said. "For I am sworn to—"

"Ye are sworn to be Fiona MacAulay," Leith interrupted, his tone rich and low. "So ye must dress as such."

"But..." she began, then stopped, for though her wants might have been evil, his desire to save his clan was not. "Then I thank you, Laird Forbes," she said. "It is truly beautiful." She bit her lip again and pressed the bundle self-consciously against her chest. "But 'tis a far richer gift than I should accept."

Again their eyes met in breathless anticipation. Air jammed in Leith's throat and his palms felt strangely moist. But her eyes were shining with some great emotion and he could not stop his smile.

"Then mayhap such a rich gift can still my guilt somewhat," he said, lifting one hand to his chest and hauling up the chain that lay beneath his simple shirt.

Upon his calloused fingers lay her wooden cross, bound with brass wire and seeming strangely at home as it hung from its humble chain about his broad neck. "Mayhap I could keep this now," he said softly, not looking at the cross but rather at her wide-eyed face. "Until the year is complete."

For the life of her, Rose could think of nothing to say. Words clogged in her mind, tumbling over each other in helpless frenzy.

There was something about the thought of her simple cross lying hidden and inexplicably secure against the deep strength of his chest that made her feel warm from head to toe.

She bit her lip, nervously swiping one hand against her skirt and failing miserably to answer.

"There is a shallow place in the lochan," Leith said as he tried to draw himself from her gaze. "If ye wish to bathe, the water will be warmer there, and I will watch to make sure ye are safe."

Rose nodded abruptly, then halted the movement with a start. "You cannot watch."

Leith tucked the cross back beneath his shirt and allowed his mouth to lift at one corner. "Ye are to be me bride, Fiona," he reminded her blithely. " Tis me right and duty."

"It most certainly is not," she said breathlessly, her eyes wide, but he was already before her, his hands gentle on her arms.

"Ye will need to play the game much better, lass, if ye are to fool the most simple-witted, but I will cede this once, so that ye dunna raise the heavens with ye arguments. Should ye have need of me, however, I will be near enough. Ye have only to call."

For one aching moment she longed to draw him near.

His gaze held her and his brows rose. "Or do ye have need now?" he asked softly.

"No!" Her face flamed and she stepped back, still holding the precious gown to her chest.

He reached for her again, but in a moment drew his hand away, fighting again for control and finally shrugging. "Remember, ye have only to call," he said, his voice low and suggestive. “It can be the verra devil trying to scrub one's own back."

The water was not exactly tepid, but neither was it icy-cold and it felt warmer than the moon-frosted night air. Rose enjoyed the bath greatly, staying to the shallows and letting the soothing waters ease her aches. She was a fair swimmer, for her father had not had a son and had, on occasion, played with her in the small stream near their home.

Those memories flooded back to her now—her mother's contagious laughter, her father's large hands and swarthy complexion.

What would they think to see her here now— denying her simple heritage and pretending she was someone she was not?

Rose floated for a time, letting her hair stream behind her like windswept fire. The water felt smooth and gentle against her flesh, like a soft caress. She blushed at the thought, for there was no use pretending she did not think of Leith, of his touch, of the narrow grooves in his cheeks when he smiled, of how the hard planes of his body felt against her breasts.

Clutching her fists, Rose drew her knees to her chest before pressing her toes into the soft mud at the lochan's bottom. Damn it all, she could not think of him this way. She had agreed to a fool's bargain, but she would not be a fool herself. She had no use for him, or for the life he offered.

She would remain aloof henceforth. Would keep to herself and return to her former life as soon as possible. Surely God would forgive her sins. Surely He understood—considering the circumstances.

With that logic firmly set in her mind, Rose hurried to the shore to retrieve the hard bar of lye and tallow soap before slipping her chilled body back into the water. She washed her hair quickly, for her thoughts had made her ill at ease, and in a moment she was bending her head back, letting the gentle waves lap the soap from her tresses as she did her best to smooth the tangles from the thick strands of hair.

That job done, she kicked gently toward shore, feeling the soft swish of her hair as it swirled about her back and flicked lightly against her buttocks. The air was cold against her skin as she emerged from the lochan, and she scowled, turning her head quickly to peer behind her.

Had she sensed a movement? Had Leith been watching after all? The possibility started a tingling blush through her body, but in a moment her gasp filled the still air.

A man stepped smoothly between her and the water, his face shadowed and sinister.

"Sweet Jesus," she whispered, sweeping her arms up to cover her bosom as a noise came from the bushes behind. She swung wildly about and confronted another stranger. He was dressed in a tartan, she could see, but there was little more to be discerned in the still darkness, though he stood not three full paces from her.

He lifted his hand, holding something in his grasp and speaking incomprehensibly in the Gaelic she'd heard Leith use with Colin.

Rose shook her head spasmodically, trying to sidle out from between the men, and in that moment realizing it was her garment he held.

There was a rustling behind her, and the startling grasp of hard fingers about her arm.

She shrieked in alarm, but the sound was cut short as her captor covered her mouth.

He whispered something close to her ear, but a moment later his own shriek echoed through the night as he was plucked from her like a ripe fruit.

Rose had only a moment to watch him fly weightlessly along before he dropped like a stone to the shore. There was a bellow of rage, and suddenly the second man was piled atop the first.

Leith stood with his feet braced and his gaze steady on the pair. "Cover yerself," he said quietly, and handed her the garment he had snatched from her assailant's hand.

Taking her chemise, she turned shakily to do his bidding, but in that moment a third body hurtled from the bushes, flying at Leith's back like a stone from a catapult.

Silken's scream sounded. But Leith needed no warning, for already he was bending. There was a twist and a thrust, a momentary shuffle, and suddenly the third man was soaring, winging his way through the air to land with a muffled thud upon his companions, his buttocks high above his head and his legs pumping.

Rose watched for only a moment before skittering to the bushes to pull the chemise over her wet skin and wrap the red plaid about her shoulders. Peering from the safety of the bushes, she watched wide-eyed as Leith stalked toward the tangled trio.

There were curses and jolts before the three finally became disentangled and scrambled groggily to their feet. But even before Rose could wish for a weapon to assist Leith, the young men were lined abreast like so many soldiers, with every jaw agape and every eye trained dead-center on Leith's furious face.

"Laird ..." choked the first lad, the whites of his eyes very clear in the darkness. "Me ... laird."

The other two remained speechless, the horror of their actions seeming to come home to their addled brains with a vengeance. In that moment Rose realized they were no more than boys really, none probably having passed his eighteenth birthday.

"I would hear an explanation," growled Leith, his voice as deep and treacherous as the bottomless sea. "Before I tear the three of ye limb from limb."

Three mouths opened to emit three noiseless stutters and Leith's scowl darkened. "How dare ye molest an innocent lass on the land of the Forbes?" he bellowed.

Garbled explanations sputtered forth, with none discernible in the frenzied rush of words.

From the safety of the foliage Rose could imagine the muscle jumping in Leith's jaw as he raised his hand for silence. "I will hear the words from Hector," he declared. "And in English, so that the lady might understand."

"Judging by her plaid we thought her to be a MacAulay, me laird," gasped the tallest of the lads, his face a sickly green in the moonlight.

"And so ye thought ye might torment her!" raged Leith, stepping forward.

The three quailed, seeming to shudder under his wrath, but he drew himself up a pace from them and swung an arm wide. “Take yer worthless hides home to yer mothers," he ordered. "And tell me household to prepare a feast for the morrow's eve. Until then, think hard on yer sins, for I surely will do the same."

They looked now to be no bigger than shivering whelps, Rose thought, and could actually feel some pity for them.

Leith, however, was not of a similar mind, and roared for their retreat when they seemed rooted to the ground.

Shaken from their spots, the three scurried into the darkness like routed rats.

Feeling the soft brush of fur against her hand, Rose glanced down to see Silken beside her, his golden eyes lifted to her face. For a moment she stroked him, letting his presence ease her nervousness and giving him her silent thanks for his nearness. A rumble of contentment sounded from his throat, but in a moment his ears twitched and he moved away, losing himself easily in the brush.

In an instant Leith stood before her.

“It seems you have saved me yet again, my laird," Rose said softly.

It took Leith a moment to draw himself from his dark thoughts. "'Tis a foolish and dangerous game we play at, Rose Gunther," he said softly, but she shook her head and set a hand to his sleeve.

"No, my laird," she said quietly. "My name is Fiona. And we do not play, but labor for peace." She looked up at him, her expression solemn. "Peace for the Forbes, the MacAulays... and for Eleanor."

Mist rolled like the magical smoke of ancient dragons in the glen below. Through the predawn fog Rose could see little of MacAulay Hold. And yet she felt as if she had seen it all before, the gray timber of the wall, the weathered, rough-hewn stone of the tower.

It was an eerie feeling, but a feeling that was no longer unfamiliar. Perhaps, she thought, this was indeed her calling, for each step she took seemed to bring her deeper and deeper into that strange, almost visible world of her mind. That world where she could sense things without seeing them, could feel emotions almost like tangible objects.

Downward they rode, with Leith leading the way until they halted their horses before the wall that surrounded the MacAulay castle.

"Who comes to our gate at this early hour?" shouted a man from above the uneven wall.

Leith waited only a moment, not letting his eyes fall to the girl, for her image was clear in his mind. She rode like a princess, clothed in velvet green, with her head and shoulders covered by the red MacAulay plaid.

“I am the Forbes, of the Forbes," he called, his voice strong in the stillness, and even from this distance Rose could hear a sharp intake of breath from behind the wall.

"Ye are na welcome here, Forbes," shouted the man in return. "As ye well ken."

Leith straightened slightly, his expression somber, and his tone deepening a bit. "We have come at yer laird's request. Let us enter or be assured ye will feel the auld man's wrath."

There was stillness behind the wall and Leith scowled. His dreams had been evil and frightful on the previous night, and he had insisted they come early, lest all should be lost.

"Have the MacAulays become so weak that they canna dare a single Forbes into their midst?" he asked, his voice rising in vehement insult.

There was a shuffling above and then stillness, but finally the gate swung open to allow the guard through. Behind him the portal closed with a rusty rumble. The guard raised his lance in arrogant challenge, but beneath his flattish, woolen cap, Rose noticed his pale, strained face.

What did they know of this laird of the Forbes that made them fear him so?

"Ye will drop yer weapons," ordered the guard, but his voice shook slightly.

"And ye will guarantee us safe passage through yer hold?" asked Leith, his back ramrod-straight, his expression hard.

"Aye ... laird." He gave the title grudgingly, but he gave it nonetheless, offering some respect with that single word. "That I will, if ye promise ye will make na trouble."

Leith pulled his sword from its scabbard, his dirk from his belt, and, turning the blades, handed them to the man on the ground. "We come in peace," he said simply, and with a nod the guard lowered his lance and took the weapons.

Leith willingly forfeited his trusty bow and arrows as well, which were kept feathers-up in a leather pouch against Beinn's pearly flank.

The gate swung open again, but for a moment Rose was tempted to turn and run, for the shadowy images of past lives suddenly flooded her senses, momentarily granting her a vision of people she had never met and yet knew in her heart. It terrified and immobilized her, for though she had often felt a twinge of eeire sensations, never had she felt the sight so strongly as now, nor allowed herself to believe in the gift.

From atop his great stallion, Leith paused, sensing Rose's uncertainty, though he could not see her face, hidden by the plaid she wore as a head shawl.

The guard had retreated behind the wall again and Leith spoke for her ears only. "I give ye this one last chance to turn back, lass. For after this venture, destiny will decide our course."

The place drew her, and in some shadowed recess in her mind Rose wondered if she would find her death there. "Nay, my laird," she said softly. "Henceforth for a year, I am Fiona MacAulay."