Like those heroes of a hundred different tales, he was going to die—a hero's death. God, in all the years she'd dreamed, a headstrong, idiot girl, she'd never realized the cost of such a brave quest to the one who loved that hero, who was left behind to mourn.
"Rachel? Which of these men is the villain?" Dunstan put one arm about her waist. She wanted to wrench away from him. She wanted to claw his eyes out for the torment he was putting her through, for what he'd done to Adam, to Gavin. The price Dunstan was about to make her pay for the perfection of one night in a croft, the soft wonder of a heather-stuffed bed, was hellishly high.
Her heart was ripping itself apart. Her lungs were sacks of scorching flame. She reached one hand toward Gavin, certain she would sacrifice every last minute of her life just to be able to touch him one more time, but she didn't dare. If Dunstan even began to suspect her bond with these two men, he might change his mind and kill them both. Someone had to go free—not just to stop the hideous waste of his own life, but also to warn the children, Mama Fee, and the others that they were wandering blindly into a massacre.
"He's the Glen Lyon." The words tore like jagged glass at Rachel's throat. "Lord Gavin Carstares."
She saw Gavin's eyes widen in fierce gratitude and a love so intense it nearly destroyed her.
Adam roared a protest, then ground into terrible silence, and Rachel knew that almost nothing would have induced him to leave his brother—not torture, not starvation, not the gallows that awaited them. The only power that could have driven Adam from Gavin's side was the need to snatch the children and Mama Fee from the jaws of the trap Dunstan had forged for them.
"Release the other," Dunstan commanded Private Cribbits. The youth stepped forward, his eyes wary, obviously scared of Adam's brute strength, the wild light in his eyes.
Rachel sensed that the big man was in a mammoth struggle against the need to fling himself at the soldier to somehow free Gavin and escape. It would be a hopeless quest, but one she knew Adam wanted to try desperately—one that at the same time, the big man knew he dared not risk.
The shackles fell away, clattering to the cell floor, but Rachel knew that she had forged new chains, agonizing chains about Adam's heart, chains he would never be free of.
"Gavin, I—" he started to say.
"Get the devil out of here," Gavin shouted. "Damn it, go!"
"Provide the man with his horse," Sir Dunstan said, "but not any weapon."
Cribbits grasped Adam by the arm, guiding him through the door. As Adam's dark head disappeared beyond it, Rachel saw Gavin's lips tug into a heartbreaking smile of relief, his eyes shining with hope. Rachel knew that if he was forced to face death on that new-made gallows, the greatest gift he could be given was the knowledge that Adam was free.
Dunstan's voice singed her nerves, made her bite back the stinging lump of tears lodged in her throat.
"You see, Rachel, my love, I do honor my promises—to you, even to traitorous fiends like the Glen Lyon."
"Yes." Rachel struggled to fill the words with meaning only Gavin would understand. "I see it all so clearly now."
Sir Dunstan looped an arm possessively about her waist, as if Gavin was beneath his notice. "Rachel was a most reckless miss, wandering about a garden all alone after dark. She made it easy to scoop her away, didn't she, my cowardly traitor?"
"You're blaming her for being abducted? Suggesting it was her fault? You pompous bastard! She was innocent. She had every right to roam that garden without fear. If you want to lay blame, Wells, blame me. Or blame your own villainy. It was the accursed savagery of your troops that drove me to take her captive in an effort to stop the bloodshed."
"Rushing to her defense, Glen Lyon? How droll. You're a picture of righteous indignation because I, Rachel's betrothed, question her rash behavior. And yet, you abducted her. You took her hostage. You threatened to kill her if I did not bow to your wishes. You dare preach? play her defender?"
"She needs someone to defend her from you!"
"Rachel, it's possible your traitor is bedazzled by you. But then, you always were able to twist men about your little finger. You've been doing it with entire regiments since you were in short skirts." Sir Dunstan turned to Gavin, his lip curled in a derisive sneer. "I assure you, that once she is my wife, the type of headstrong behavior that landed her in your clutches will cease. Of course, I daresay she has learned her lesson already, haven't you, my love?"
Fury encased Rachel, all but raging out of control. She dared not give in to it, let it make her vulnerable to Dunstan. She could not let him see that it was driving her mad to see Gavin this way, his wrists raw from the harsh rasp of shackles, his face bruised, the dank cell shutting away the sunlight from his face.
"Now, Rachel," Dunstan purred, "my darling, I'll take you abovestairs and have one of the maids attend you. You've been through a brutal ordeal, though you're too much a soldier's daughter to admit it, even to yourself. Then, as soon as you're dressed in something suitable, my love, I'll come to comfort you."
He turned her toward the door, and Rachel cast one last look at Gavin. His face was a battlefield of emotions—rage that Dunstan dared to touch her, hopeless longing for a future that would never be, fierce pride in her, and love that flowed through her veins as certainly as his hands had skimmed over her body the one enchanted night they had spent together.
Was it possible to squeeze a lifetime's worth of love into one single aching glance? Gavin did so, his gaze piercing her.
Rachel felt Dunstan's arm press against her, forcing her go places she didn't want to go, to leave behind the only thing she wanted—one more moment in Gavin's arms.
Gavin would face the noose and the knife because of her. She stumbled as Dunstan guided her through the cell door. She bit the inside of her lip until it bled in an effort to stifle a keening cry as the guard shut Gavin inside, blocked away from light and hope and children's laughter.
She closed her eyes, tormented by the image of a golden-haired boy of ten, wandering about a grand house, attempting to please a father who could never understand him; a boy in a portrait full of giggling, wrestling children, a beaming father, a laughing lady with babies in her arms; a boy who stood, solemn eyed, alone despite the people all around him.
Alone.
God, how could she bear knowing that he was alone now, with death swirling in the shadows?
No. Rachel stiffened her shoulders. She wouldn't let him make this sacrifice, walking into the arms of death with that calm acceptance, as if it had been the fate that awaited him all along. Adam was gone, free to warn those for whom Gavin would willingly have sacrificed his life. The children would be safe. Adam was safe.
There were no more hero quests for which Gavin would bleed. She would fight, find a way—some way—to free him, even if it cost her her own life.
She looked about as Dunstan led her through the maze of soldiers who lounged about, polishing weapons, boasting of dangerous raids, pulse-stirring victories, victories that Rachel had seen stripped of their luster. Once, such tales had been all she'd lived for, but Gavin had opened the door to a different world.
A new life... a gift that had been given to her in the chill confines of a cave buried in the Scottish hills, like some Celtic treasure of old, a life placed into her hands by a soul-weary warrior, a lost dreamer called the Glen Lyon.
But could she give him the gift of life in return? How could she open a prison door? Spirit Gavin past so many guards? How... She swallowed hard, recalling the devotion on the face of the soldiers, their delight that she had returned safe. Was it possible that their devotion could be the very weapon Rachel could use against them?
She winced inwardly at the thought of betraying Augustus Cribbits and Bertram Townsend, but she bolstered her determination by focusing on the evil she had seen in Dunstan's features, in the viciousness with which the soldiers had stormed the village days ago. Could she use their loyalty against them? Distract the soldiers, by having them pay he
r tribute? If she could arrange such a thing, was it possible she could pull enough of the guards from their posts to allow Gavin a chance at escape? The thought made her heart race, her palms sweat, yet it was her only hope.
"Dunstan, this whole disaster has been an ordeal." Rachel's voice sounded like a stranger's, overbright. "I'm so relieved it's all over. But, I can't help thinking what would have happened to me if I hadn't escaped."
"Surely you don't fault me for my position," Dunstan said, his voice taking on that sudden chill it did when anyone dared even hint at criticizing him. "I had no choice. Remember what I had engraved on the miniature I gave you? I could not love you half so well, loved I not honor more."
The quote rang hollow and empty, and Rachel let her lashes drift down over her eyes to veil her disgust. "I understand why you made the choice you did."
Because a human life is less important to you than personal glory...
"It's just... Dunstan, I want to celebrate—celebrate my return to you. Do you think we could hold some sort of a dinner party for the officers and their wives? Nothing fancy, just... it would be so good to see familiar faces again."
"It would please you?" He looked like a thwarted boy wanting to wheedle his way back into her good graces.
Rachel managed a smile and nodded.
"Then you shall have the most elegant party my resources can provide, my dearest. The instant the Glen Lyon is dumped into his grave."
Rachel fought back the panic and turned pleading eyes to this man who now repelled her, this man she had understood not at all. The knowledge that she'd mouthed the same lies and platitudes about war and heroism, believed the same heartless theories, sickened her. "No, please. Can't we celebrate tonight? I want to forget what happened, and if we wait until after the execution, that's all anyone will speak of."
Dunstan frowned. "I'm not certain.... Rachel, tell me you're not having any sentimental regrets over the man's death. He's a criminal, a coward, a traitor. He chose his own fate the instant he rebelled against the crown."
"Yes. He chose his own fate," Rachel said.
He chose to remain in Scotland, battered and bloody as it was, instead of fleeing to perfumed salons in Paris or Italy with the rest of Bonnie Prince Charlie's officers.
He chose to turn his back on his own freedom, and gathered up children as tenderly as if they were stars fallen down from heaven, each a unique treasure, irreplaceable.
He chose to love me, even when I did not deserve the hero's heart he offered me.
She implored him. "Please, Dunstan. Let the party be tonight." She tried not to show the dark waters of dread lapping ever higher inside her, the crippling fear that she would fail Gavin, that she would have to watch him die.
Dunstan peered down at her, his lips stretching across his teeth in a tight smile. "You are brilliant as any general, my sweet, ruthless in plying the weapons at your disposal. I surrender. You may have your little fete."
"Thank God... thank you." Rachel fought to keep tears of relief from stinging her eyes.
"I am certain that the men will be eager to welcome you back. This time, you will be the one sharing tales of courage and daring. Of course, when you strike a treaty, there are always conditions, my lady general," Dunstan said, drawing her into what had once been a small salon. Sunshine streamed through torn velvet hangings, dust motes sliding along beams of light.
"Conditions?" Rachel echoed, tensing as he shut the door.
"Do you know, I'm loathe to admit that I had almost forgotten how beautiful you are?" Dunstan murmured.
The confession sent panic spilling in a cold wash down her spine.
"Look at you, Rachel. You're dressed in a harlot's rags, yet you have the bearing of a queen." He stroked the length of her arm. "It has been forever since I saw you last. Show me how much you have missed me, how glad you are to be back in my arms again."
He faced her, the sunlight snagging on the coarse whiteness of his wig, a dusting of powder across his brow. His nostrils flared, a light that was almost predatory darkening his eyes. Rachel swallowed hard, attempted to slip away, but he trapped her, flattening his palms on the wall on either side of her head.
"Kiss me, Rachel," he commanded. "Show me how grateful you are for my surrender."
Rachel's stomach rebelled, and she groped desperately for some way, any way to refuse. But if she raised his suspicions, the cost might be Gavin's life.
Hating herself, she raised her mouth to Dunstan's. But instead of the pleasant warmth she used to feel, she felt a sense of detachment in Dunstan, a subtle desire to dominate her. He didn't allow her to maintain control of the kiss, but took it from her the instant their lips brushed.
He crushed her between the wall and his body with a passion she'd never felt in him before, as if the fact that she'd been the captive of some other man titillated him somehow, made him determined to reassert his claim upon her.
His hands delved into her hair, tearing some of the tangled strands, and his tongue thrust like a rapier into her mouth, a weapon to subdue her, conquer her.
To conquer her...
The sudden awareness streaked through Rachel, answering so many questions. Was that the reason Dunstan Wells had turned his attention to her in the first place? To prove that he could conquer proud, headstrong Rachel de Lacey, the one woman no soldier had ever been able to tame? Had love been the same shallow game to him that it had been to the spoiled general's daughter?
Rachel couldn't stop herself from pulling away.
"Rachel? What the blazes is wrong?"
"I—I've been through so much. I'm so tired and— and hungry. I didn't know how tired I was."
He was regarding her warily, as if he was trying to peel back her defenses, see what thoughts were roiling in her mind. "You've never drawn back from me before. Why now? Did that bastard touch you? hurt you? By God, if he did, I'll take the knife to him myself, unman him—"
"No! He didn't hurt me. It's just that I've ridden through the night. I've been kidnapped, held hostage, and have faced the man who held me prisoner. I had to decide who would live and who would die."
"It's a decision a soldier faces every day of his life."
"And does it get easier, the more times you make that choice?"
"They're the enemy."
Rachel paced away from him and went to the window. She stared out, marking where the stable was, the horses in the paddock. Manslayer, that wild, scarred monster of a horse that adored Gavin, was pacing the fence, as if the merest breath from his master would send him crashing joyously into Armageddon.
She closed her eyes, remembering Gavin's desolation in the cottage, his agonized confession about the soldier he had killed to free the women and children from the blazing building.
They won.... For the first time, I can't remember his face....
"Dunstan, do you ever see their faces?"
"What?"
"The faces of the men you've slain in battle."
"They're the enemy. I do what I have to do. Kill them. No. I never see their faces."
"Death made glorious, destruction sanctified," she whispered.
"You know what I stand for: courage and honor, duty to God and country."
There were men who lived thus, believed thus, Rachel knew—any sacrifice for the greater glory. But she'd also known soldiers with old eyes filled with regret and shoulders bowed down from what they had done, seen, battles they'd fought to keep others safe. When soldiers sacrificed their own peace for the sole purpose of protecting others, they were the most noble heroes imaginable, should be honored to the depths of one's heart.
Gavin had fought, but he hadn't lost his soul. Adam was a warrior, with a warrior's strength, but he, too would save life if it were in his power rather than destroy it.
Impatience flashed into Dunstan's face. "What the devil is wrong with you? You've always been thrilled at my triumphs. Elated at victories. I remember you as a girl, more eager for tales of battle than any awestruck re
cruit I've ever seen."
"I remember," Rachel said. "I'm sorry." Sorry for being so blind, sorry for not weeping with the wives and children of these faceless enemies you climbed to glory upon. Sorry I never understood the price good soldiers paid—the regrets, the nightmares.
"Go upstairs, Rachel. Rest." There was chill disapproval in his tones, a dismissal that hinted what life would have been like if she had wed this man—a series of battles in which he would have won because he didn't count the cost.
"Before you go, take this." He rummaged in his pocket, drew out an object that glinted between his fingers. The betrothal ring he'd placed on her finger a lifetime ago.
"No," Rachel said, curling her fingers into her palms with a sudden sense of panic. "I can't wear it now. My hands..."
She held out the bruised fingers, and for a moment, she expected Dunstan to insist, but he merely opened one of her hands and placed the ring in her palm.
"This whole unfortunate affair is all behind us now, Rachel. Soon you'll be my bride. I'll make you proud, I vow it. When the Glen Lyon is executed tomorrow, no man will ever dare mock me again."
"Tomorrow?" Rachel asked faintly.
"I'll not rest until he's in hell. And once he is," Dunstan said, smiling, "I will fulfill my destiny. I'll be a man of power, an officer to be reckoned with. And you will be the perfect ornament at my side." He reached up and grasped her chin between thumb and finger, and she fought to suppress a shudder.
"Of one thing you may be certain, Rachel: I will never again let you out of my sight."
Rachel clutched the betrothal ring in her hand and all but fled up the stairs to the bedchamber where Dunstan directed her.
I will never... let you out of my sight...
The words echoed, ominous as any death knell. Her plan tonight depended on escaping not only Dunstan's keen gaze, but those of the men who would be gathered to honor her, men drawn from their guard posts so they would be as far away as possible from the cell where Gavin awaited his execution.
Rachel closed the bedchamber door, her fingers tracing the obscured outline of the pistol hidden beneath her skirts.