Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-three
“Majesty. Look.”
Lord Desmond Frazer pointed. Beside him, the
queen stared in astonishment at the sight of hundreds of
Highlanders gathering on the far bank of the loch.
Within the hour, Jamie MacDonald and the
Gordons had been ferried across and stood before their queen.
“We are here, Majesty, to return you, in
triumph, to Holyroodhouse,” Jamie announced, bowing low over her
hand.
“Oh, Jamie, my friend. You are as good as
your word.”
“As are the Gordons, Majesty. It was Douglas
Gordon who summoned the lairds.”
“And it was Jamie’s eloquent words that
persuaded them to leave their homes and follow him,” Douglas
said.
“Then my gratitude to both of you,” Mary
said. “I rejoiced when your messenger arrived, assuring me that all
were safe. My husband,” she said, glancing at Lord Darnley who
stood meekly beside her, “has revealed the names of all the lairds
who plotted against me. Already many have fled the country. The
rest, including Ruthven, lie dead.”
Jamie felt relieved that the men who had
attacked Brice Campbell were finally punished for their crimes.
“And now with your army,” Mary continued with
a note of happiness, “our success is assured.”
With pride Neal led the queen’s horse from
the stable and assisted her into the saddle.
“Where is your sister?” Mary asked as she
accepted his hand.
“Jamie sent her home, Majesty. Along with
Murray and Donald, who were wounded by the highwaymen.”
“I would wager she did not go willingly.”
“Nay, Majesty. There were words between
them.”
The queen glanced at Jamie. That would
explain his haggard appearance. Love, she thought with a sigh, was
never easy.
“We ride to Edinburgh,” she called in a loud,
clear voice. The men cheered.
“But first, my friends, there is a most
important stop we must make along the way. Jamie, I would send a
rider ahead with a message.”
“Aye, Majesty.” He summoned a rider from
among the Highlanders, and waited while the queen prepared several
long missives.”
As she handed over the scrolls, Jamie saw the
light in her eyes, and suddenly knew. The queen would stop first at
Kinloch House. And see for herself if Brice Campbell, the Highland
Barbarian, had survived.
* * *
As their horses’ hooves ate up the miles,
Jamie’s thoughts grew pensive. It seemed so long since he had been
home. And when he had left, Brice had been hovering near death.
Throughout this long adventure he had
adamantly refused to allow himself to think the worst. Brice was a
strong man who had been wounded many times before. Always he had
regained his strength. But this time, the wounds had been brutal.
And Brice was no longer the young, carefree lad he had once been.
Nor, Jamie thought gloomily, was he. Strange how one adventure
could change a man’s life forever. He felt so much older and more
battered than when he had left Kinloch on that bitter morning. But
no wiser.
As they topped a rise, Jamie caught sight of
Kinloch House in the distance. As always, his heartbeat quickened
at the view. He felt as he had that first time he had seen it as a
terrified orphan, carried in the arms of a rough Highlander. The
magnificent structure sprawled between two towering peaks.
Their hoofbeats thundered as hundreds of
Highlanders assembled in the courtyard of Kinloch House. The doors
were thrown wide and those assembled inside spilled forth to greet
their monarch.
Jamie stood at attention on one side of Mary,
with Douglas on the other. They watched as Meredith, Brice’s
beautiful wife, curtsied before the queen and presented her
bairns.
“Tell me of Brice,” Mary said softly,
gripping Jamie’s arm for support as she waited for words.
Meredith’s eyes filled with tears, and for a
moment Jamie felt his heart stop. Then he realized that hers were
tears of joy.
“He lives, Majesty. And already he is well
enough to make us all miserable with his demands.”
The queen pressed a hand to her heart and
felt her own eyes fill. “Praise heaven. I would see him.”
“At once, Majesty. But first, my sisters wait
to greet you.”
Mary patiently greeted Brenna and her English
husband, Morgan Grey, and the youngest sister, Megan, and her Irish
husband, Kieran O’Mara, and dutifully placed her hand upon all
their bairns’ heads. Then, her patience wearing thin, Mary insisted
upon being taken to see her beloved barbarian.
As they climbed the stairs, Jamie thought
about all the battles that had been waged within these walls. And
all the love and laughter this old fortress had witnessed. Now
another generation of bairns laughed and cried and played through
the rooms.
They entered Brice’s chambers and Jamie
watched as across the room, Brice was helped to his feet by two of
his men. He made a gallant bow before the queen rushed forward and
fell into his outstretched arms. And for the first time that Jamie
could recall, his queen burst into tears.
“There now,” Brice murmured. “Am I such an
old weak man that you must weep for my wounds? Has Meredith not
told you that I am healing nicely?”
“Aye,” she cried through her tears. “It is my
condition. I find I cry easily these days.”
“Ah.” Brice drew her close for another
embrace. Over her head he winked at Jamie. “All women seem to cry
more easily when they are with child. I well remember Meredith’s
tears before our last bairn was born.”
“It is a comfort to know that I am not—the
only one to behave in such a strange fashion.” Mary wiped her tears
and forced a smile to her lips. Sniffling she asked, “Are you well
enough to sup with me before I leave for Edinburgh?”
“I would not miss it. Meredith has planned a
grand banquet.” He gave her a mysterious smile. “We received your
message. All is in readiness.”
Her smile brightened. “Then I will refresh
myself from the rigors of our journey and prepare for the
feast.”
Mary followed Meredith from the room, leaving
Jamie alone with Brice.
For a moment the two stared at each other in
silence. Then Jamie strode across the room and caught Brice in a
warm embrace.
“You are truly well?”
“Aye. The wounds heal. Slowly. But they
heal.” Brice studied the haggard features and clapped a hand on his
shoulder. “I knew you would succeed,” he muttered.
“Did you? That was more than I knew. I merely
did as you suggested.”
“From the queen’s missive, you did much more
than that. She considers you her champion.”
Jamie hung his head at Brice’s scrutiny.
“And there are rumors of—misadventures, as
well,” Brice said thoughtfully.
Jamie’s head came up sharply. “What have you
heard?”
“Only that you had the misfortune to meet a
Highland lass with a temper to match your own.”
Jamie swallowed and remained silent. But his
pain was evident to the man who had raised him.
“Go and refresh yourself,” Brice said. “And
then return and lift a tankard with me. I would hear
everything.”
“Aye.” Brushing a hand wearily across his
eyes, Jamie made his way to his old chambers and sank down
gratefully on the bed. There had been no rest for him in many days.
He was too weary to even remove his sword and scabbard. And yet he
could not seem to summon sleep. His thoughts were tormented by his
last view of Lindsey, riding defiantly out of his life and vowing
never to forgive him.
* * *
Jamie, looking splendid in black breeches and
tunic, descended the stairs. He could hear the hum of conversation
in the great hall. When he entered, he was astounded to see the
great number of guests who had been invited to sup with their
queen. Besides the hundreds of Highlanders who had ridden with him,
there were all the Campbells and their families, and the
dignitaries from the surrounding towns and villages, who were so
rarely privileged to bask in the presence of their monarch.
As he made his way through the crush of
people, Murray Gordon caught his arm and pulled him aside. Standing
with him were his three brothers, who greeted Jamie warmly.
“So,” Jamie said, “you are healed. When did
you arrive?”
“Only this morrow. We left as soon as the
queen’s missive arrived.”
We. Jamie longed to ask about Lindsey, but
his pride prevented him from doing so. Besides, he warned himself,
the lass was too furious with him to ever forgive him.
“I would say this now,” Murray began, “before
the ale flows too freely, getting in the way of my tongue.”
The others chuckled.
“What is it?” Jamie tensed.
“I resented you when you invaded our home.”
Murray flushed but forced himself to go on. “And I resented the way
you behaved like a mule in the presence of my sister.”
“Mule?”
Murray held up his hand and said, “Aye. A
mule. But then, Lindsey is not the easiest of lasses. Now I would
apologize for my unkind thoughts and at times my rude behavior
toward you.” He offered his hand. “If ever I find myself in battle
with a dozen men against me, I would have you at my side, Jamie
MacDonald. You are truly the finest warrior in Scotland.”
Jamie stared at his hand in amazement,
wondering what had brought this on. Then he smiled and accepted his
handshake.
The others patted him on the back and offered
their hands.
“Come, now,” Murray said. “I was told to see
that you sat with the queen at the table of honor. Her husband,
’tis said, is indisposed.”
The four escorted Jamie through the throng
until they reached the head table, where they were greeted warmly
by the queen and by Meredith and Brice. But when Brice moved aside,
Jamie was astonished to see standing behind him, a vision in
emerald satin.
“Lindsey.” Jamie breathed her name as he
strode forward, then halted abruptly. “How did you come to be here,
my lady?”
Lindsey struggled to hide the tumultuous
emotions she was experiencing at the nearness of him. The rogue
still had the ability to make her pulse race and her blood heat.
“The queen commanded it. Else I would still be in banishment at my
father’s fortress.”
Banishment. Jamie’s heart fell at her choice