no one outside their own blood. Then the trick would be to force them
to sit still long enough to hear what he had to say. With so many of
them, he was apt to find himself at the p6int of a sword before his
first words could be spoken.
Jamie touched a hand to the stiffness of his shoulder, the lingering
effects of an old battle wound. All those hours in the saddle, and now
the rain that chilled him clear to the bone, were taking their toll.
He yearned for a warm fire and a soft bed. With a trace of impatience
he shook his head to clear his mind of such annoying thoughts. He
could not afford to allow himself any distractions.
These Gordons were fighters like himself. They would not willingly
listen to talk of peace among the Highland clans. Nor would they
respect a man who came, that in hand, to ask their help. It would take
bold measures to get their attention. And even bolder measures to
enlist their aid. He had not yet decided just what those bold measures
would be.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a sudden movement and forced
himself to remain motionless. As the rider passed, Jamie noted the
stubble of dark beard in a brooding, handsome face. The lad's that was
worn at a rakish angle. His dark eyes gleamed with the sleek, smug
look of a cat that had just stolen his master's cream. This would be
Donald Gordon, the second son, a rebel, and by all accounts a man who
loved the wenches.
Jamie gave a satisfied nod. At last all the sons were accounted for.
Now he would wait and watch for an opportunity to catch them
unawares.
"So, laddie, you've finally come home." Murray Gordon, touching a hand
to his newly cultivated beard, gave his brother a lingering look.
"We were just about to break our fast. You'd best have an explanation
ready. Father was planning to have Robbie and Neal comb the village
until they found you, even if it meant searching every maiden's bed."
Donald Gordon gave his elder brother a wink.
"They'd have had to look no farther than the widow Lennox's cottage."
"The widow Lennox?" Murray's mouth dropped before he added, "Have you
cut such a swath through the eligible wenches that you are now reduced
to the charms of that plump baggage?"
Donald threw back his head and roared.
"Not the widow, you dolt. Her fetching daughter."
Murray shot him a withering look.
"Why, she's no more than a child."
"A child?" Donald tossed his cloak on a peg and shook the rain from
his hair. Turning to his brother he said with a grin, "While you were
looking the other way, that child grew into a very charming lass." He
dropped his arm around Murray's shoulder as they strode toward the
refectory.
"And believe me, she was most eager that I sample all her charms."
Both men threw back their heads and roared. The laughter died on their
lips when they caught sight of the stern countenance of their father.
Douglas Gordon, seated at the head of the table speared them with a
look of righteous anger.
"How kind of you to spare your family a few moments of your precious
time, Donald. It seems you can no longer sleep in your own bed."
"There are so many more--interesting beds in the village," Donald said
as he seated himself.
Douglas slammed his fist on the table sending the dishes clattering.
Everyone in the room fell silent.
"Have I raised a son, or a rutting goat?"
"By all accounts, Father, I am fiaerely following in your glorious
footsteps."
Someone snickered.
Douglas Gordon's eyes narrowed. It was clear the lad had touched a
nerve. He spoke in a tone of regret.
"Aye. I fear I was guilty of wenching in my youth."
He fell silent as his only daughter circled the table to fill his
goblet. His gaze softened. How like his dear wife Lindsey had
become.
She had inherited her mother's thick, auburn hair, framing the face of
an angel. Her slight, slender stature seemed even more pronounced
because of a limp, which was only noticeable when Lindsey was agitated
or weary. It was the result of a childhood injury that had nearly
devastated her loving parents.
Her mother had died when Lindsey was but a child, and Douglas had done
what any father would do; he had simply taken the girl with him and
treated her the same way he treated his sons. The lass, surrounded by
a warrior father and four brothers, had abandoned all attempts at
feminine pursuits.
Despite her physical frailty, the lass possessed an indomitable spirit
and a bright, logical mind. She had mastered the use of small weapons
as easily as her brothers. The broadsword and longbow, however,
required more strength than she possessed.
Douglas knew that if she had been born a male, she would have been his
first choice to inherit the leadership of this fierce clan.
Realizing his family had grown uncomfortably silent, Douglas struggled
to pull himself back from his somber thoughts.
"My wenching ended the moment I met Diedre. I want you to know that
from then on, there was never another lass who could turn my head,"
Heating the pain in his tone, Lindsey Gordon brushed a kiss over her
father's shaggy eyebrow.
"Aye. I remember the love shining between the two of you. We all
share your pain." Her warning gaze swept her brothers around the,
table.
"Do we not?"
'"Twas a love like no other," Murray said in quick agreement.
Lindsey signaled to a servant, who filled the other goblets.
"When I meet the woman of my dreams, my wenching days will be over as
well," Donald said defiantly.
His words were greeted with hoots of laughter from his sister and
brothers.
"The woman of your dreams." Neal, the youngest, turned to the brother
closest in age to him, whose sun kissed hair and fair features caused
many a village lass to turn and stare.
"Tell me, Robbie. Has Donald been reading your poetry?"
'"Twould seem so. Tell us about this dream vision," Robbie said,
winking at his sister as she took the seat beside him.
"It wouldn't do to fill your head. You'd best keep your thoughts on
those pretty words you write, Rob. And leave the wenches to me."
Lindsey joined in the laughter.
"Describe this woman to me, Donald.
Mayhap I will find her for you among the village wenches. "
"I need no help from my sister to find my future wife." Donald lifted
his goblet, ignoring the jeers of laughter from the others.
"Will she have big----eyes, like the widow Lennox?" Even Donald found
himself laughing at that. But one look at his father's face wiped the
smile from his lips. Usually the old man was the first to join in the
laughter and teasing. But this day he was in a somber mood.
"What is it, Father? What troubles you this morrow?"
"We speak of foolishness while there are rumors of turmoil at
Holyrood."
"Turmoil." At the mention of Holyrood, the queen's residence in
Edinburg
h, Murray's head came up sharply. "what have you heard?"
"Rumors. Gossip. No one seems to know anything. But 'tis whispered
that the queen and her husband are far from happy."
"Is there not soon fo be a child?" Lindsey asked.
"Aye?"
"Then what can be wrong? They are so newly wed."
"There are those who say the queen's foolish young husband, Lord
Darnley, would make our Donald look like a mere jester among the women
at court." He glanced around the table at his children.
"If such whispers have reached us here in the Highlands, do you not
think Queen Mary herself has heard the rumors? And is surely
disheartened by them?"
Neal, the youngest, broke the silence.
"Mary is queen. Can she not command Darnley to love only her?"
Everyone burst into peals of laughter. Lindsey touched a hand to his
cheek, but he pulled away sharply, embarrassed to be petted like a
child. He was, after all, ten and six years, and taller than two of
his brothers. Only Donald was taller, taller even than their father.
"Why does that amuse all of you?"
"Because," Lindsey said patiently, "even the queen cannot command
someone to love her. Love cannot be ordered about. Love just happens,
without reason."
"And how would you know about such things?" Murray asked. As the
eldest, he felt a keen sense of responsibility toward his sister. She
was, after all, still a maiden.
"Mayhap she has been reading your poetry, Robbie," Neal called out with
a laugh.
"What care I about love?" Lindsey snatched up her gob let, suddenly
stung by their teasing. '"Twould only mean having another man
underfoot."
"That would not be the worst thing to happen to you," Donald said with
a sly laugh.
"It is time you gave some thought to taking a husband and filling this
old house with children."
"I thought I would save that privilege for you, Donald. Since there
are so many willing maidens hoping to catch your eye." "If the truth
be told, there are far too many to make a choice. You, on the other
hand, have had so little experience with the lads, any sturdy bumpkin
should do nicely. Perhaps you would like us to pick him out for
you."
"I shall do my own choosing, thank you." Lindsey pushed away from the
table.
"If you will excuse me, Fa- tiler, I will see to the servants preparing
our meal."
"Aye, lass." Douglas watched as she flounced from the room, then
commanded softly, "Mind your tongues around Lindsey. She should not be
forced to listen to your crude remarks."
"She is usually the one who makes them," Neal pro tested. He
remembered the first time he had heard his sister swear. She would
have put a soldier to shame.
Douglas chose to overlook his son's comment. Despite his daughter's
quick temper, she was the light of his life. Though she went about her
chores without complaint, Douglas sensed her loneliness at times.
Despite the fact that theirs was a lively, raucous family, he knew that
his daughter had been denied the company of other women. Her isolation
had given her a simple innocence that, to him, was refreshing.
But to those beyond these secluded hills she would no doubt appear too
artless.
He emptied his goblet and glanced at the sons seated to his right and
left. Their talk soon turned, as always, to the state of their country
and their beloved young queen.
Lindsey gathered the last of the eggs into her apron and headed for.
the house. Usually such mundane chores were given over to a servant,
but she had a need to escape the confines of the four walls, despite
the weather. A bitter rain was nothing compared with the stbrm that
raged within between her brothers and her father.
Theirs was a prickly, combative family, and though she loved them
dearly, there were times when she would have gratefully strangled her
overbearing menfolk. At such times she fled to the solitude" of the
forest. Today, because of the weather, she would content herself with
a brief foray into the rain-soaked acreage that ringed their
fortress.
All the talk between her father and brothers, if shouts and resounding
oaths could be called talk, centered b. round the rumors of turmoil at
Holyrood, the queen's official residence in Edinburgh. Turmoil, she
thought. The queen should live with Douglas Gordon and his four sons.
If they weren't brooding over Donald and his wenches, they were arguing
over Murray's long-standing feud with the Robertsons, or Robbie's
rambling, poetic missives to an unnamed maiden, or the never-ending
tensions that simmered between Scotland and England.
One day soon, Lindsey knew, the warlike Highlanders could be called
upon to defend their country against the aggressions of England. The
thought of it did not frighten her. All her life she had Watched her
father and brothers go off to do battle. She had seen her poor
mother's heart broken by the thought of losing her adored husband and
sons to the sword. Lindsey's lips tightened. Instead it was her dear
mother who had died young. Far too young. And left a family washed in
grief.
Lindsey could still recall those early years, when she and Neal were
left behind while her father and older brothers went off to do
battle.
She had cried out at the injustice of it. There was still a lingering
trace of guilt that, because of her mother's untimely death, she had
been granted her wish. From that day on her father had seen to it that
all his children, including his daughter, accompanied him every
where.
Those forays into battle had convinced Lindsey that she would never be
content to stay at home while her men went off on their adventures.
Perhaps Lindsey was distracted by her thoughts. Or perhaps she had
taken on too many chores this day. For what ever reason, she let down
her guard for a moment. In the softly falling rain she heard the
crackle of a branch just moments before an arm came round her waist and
a big hand closed over her mouth. The hem of her apron slipped from
nerveless fingers. Eggs tumbled to the ground, their contents mingling
with the rain to run in sticky yellow rivers at her feet.
Her scream was abruptly choked off.
Her heart hammered in her temples as a rough voice warned, "Not a word,
lass, or I shall have to break your pretty neck." She felt the heat of
her attacker's breath as he said, "Do as I say and you will not be
harmed. Do you understand?"
She swallowed the terror that clogged her throat and nodded
"I wish only to speak to your master. I mean him no harm. You will
lead me through his keep by way of the scullery."
Lindsey's mind raced. The lout thought she was a servant. If he were
to learn the truth, she would be in far greater danger. She must keep
up the charade until she thought of a way to warn her family of this
invader.
Feigning weakness, she slumped against him. With a muttered oat
h Jamie
lowered her to the wet grass. He had not meant to harm this female,
but ofttimes he did not know his own strength. As he knelt beside her
his breath caught in his throat. God in heaven. Close up, she was far
lovelier than he had expected. Thick tangles of russet hair fell to
her waist. Damp little tendrils kissed her cheeks in a most becoming
fashion. Her oval face was accentuated by high cheekbones and a tiny,
upturned nose, and her lips were full and ripe. As her lids fluttered
he found himself staring into eyes that rivaled the queen's emeralds.
He cursed this damnably hysterical female for her beauty and her
weakness. He was unprepared for either. He had expected to bully the
servant into leading him to her master. Now his gallantry would not
permit it. He would have to carry her. A not altogether unpleasant
task.
Sweeping her into his arms, he lifted her as easily as if she were a
hairn. With quick strides he began to pick his way through the wet
grass toward the scullery.
As the giant carded her, Lindsey plotted her next move. Those few
moments had bought her time to study this stranger. From the weapons
he carried, he was no ordinary traveler. The hilt of the sword at his
waist glinted with gold and precious jewels, proving him to be a man of
some wealth and measure. Unless, she thought with a tremor of new
fear, he had stolen the sword from an unfortunate nobleman She pushed
aside that thought and concentrated on the matter at hand. The sword's
blade was honed to a razor edge. A fighter's sword, not a gentleman's
weapon. She had counted three dirks, one at his waistband and one at
each boot.
She could not allow this villain to catch her father and brothers
unaware. Somehow she must warn them of his presence.
As he cradled her to his chest, Jamie glanced down at the sweep of
thick lashes that shielded her eyes from his view. He seized the
moment to study her flawless complexion and felt the sudden, unwelcome
stirring in his loins. Had he encountered this female at some other
place and time, he would have savored her wild, primitive beauty. But
at this moment he wanted nothing more than to present his offer to the
Gordon clan and be on his way to Edinburgh to be with his queen.
Still, he could not ignore the fragrance of evergreen and wildflowers
that drifted gently from her hair and clothes, enveloping him in the
sweetest perfume. She was a most fetching distraction.
At the door to the scullery Jamie paused. Hearing no sound from
within, he kicked open the door and strode inside.
The woman in his arms moaned. Alarmed, he set her down on a rug by the
hearth and knelt beside her.
"Are you hurt, lass? Is something wrong?"
"Water," she rasped, keeping her eyes firmly closed.
"Please, sir, I have need of water quickly."
Her voice was soft, almost husky. It was unlike any fe male voice he
had ever heard, whispering over his senses in a way that disturbed him
greatly. Still, he reminded him self, he had not come here to be
charmed by a voice. There was desperate work to be done.
As he knelt over her she watched from beneath half- closed lids and
tried again.
"Please. Water."
"Aye." Reluctantly Jamie crossed the room and filled a dipper from a
bucket. From the corner of his eye he saw the flash of color and
turned in time to see the girl racing toward the doorway leading to the
refectory.
"By the gods!" In swift strides he caught up with her. She gave out a
loud scream as a big hand closed over her shoulder, stopping her in