Four #2
“Your sister is married to his brother. You are one of his. He’s the duke. He’ll take care of his own. He’ll pay my price.”
“And what if he doesn’t?”
There was a beat of silence. Soberly, he said, “You’d best hope he does.”
For the second time in her life Constance was speechless. The first time had been when he’d kissed her.
Who was this man? And why was he ruining her life?
She’d grown up on the frontier. She’d learned how to judge a man quickly. Gordon Lachlan wasn’t one to speak carelessly.
Behind them the others laughed and talked. They were in good spirits. They almost seemed a completely separate party of riders, one out for a lark. It wasn’t to Lachlan…and she knew then how to pay him in kind for disrupting her life.
“They don’t share your passion,” she said.
He all but flinched. She’d discovered his weakness.
“They care,” he said, an edge to his voice that his soft burr could not hide. “But a man likes to talk to keep awake when he’s riding hard.”
Constance was tempted to call him a liar. Fortunately, common sense intruded. Baiting him would give her satisfaction but not what she wanted.
Inspiration struck. “What if I paid for my freedom?” There had to be a way for her to find money. She’d lost everything she had during the escape, but once she reached the valley, she might be able to borrow some. She’d heard that people borrowed money for all sorts of things.
Or, once she was safely home, she could write and petition Charlotte for the money. “You could craft another sword out of the money and no one would be the wiser.”
He glanced at her as if she’d grown horns out of her head. “I wouldn’t do that. ’Twould be dishonest.”
“Oh, yes,” Constance commiserated, “kidnapping is far more honest.”
The moonlight caught the flash of anger in his eyes. “I don’t expect you to understand. The power of that sword goes back a century and more. It’s the clan’s pride. Colster doesn’t deserve it. We are its rightful owners. He must return it.”
“And then?”
“And then I’ll use it to chase the English into hell.”
The vehemence in his voice made her uneasy. The men riding behind them had fallen quiet, not because they were listening but because they were tired…just as she was. The only one of their number who seemed indefatigable was Gordon Lachlan. He was driven.
“There are thousands and thousands of English on this island,” she said soberly.
“I know.”
“You can’t fight them all. It’s a losing cause.”
“I’ll do what I must.”
He didn’t prevaricate. She respected that. He believed that deeply in his purpose.
The moonlight made the planes of his face look hard. There was a fire in this man. She’d seen it before, but not here. In America.
“Do you have an army?” she asked.
“My clansmen drill now at our camp. There are others who yearn for justice but they don’t believe we can succeed. The Sword of the MacKenna will give them a voice. Then, they will join us.”
She shook her head. “I know something about war. I’ve seen Indian battles and witnessed how ruthless men can be when the blood lust is upon them.
” She didn’t want to think of Gordon Lachlan that way.
He was her kidnapper, he’d tricked her, but there was something humane and honorable about him, too.
He seemed to read her mind. “Don’t judge me harshly, Miss Constance,” he said.
“I have cause for my actions. The English allow a nasty habit to occur here, one they wouldn’t allow in their own country.
It’s called the Clearances. Landowners have discovered the profit in sheep and want grazing pastures.
These men who were once chieftains of their clans have gone English and shoved aside their responsibilities to the crofters and yeoman who have given them allegiance for centuries, all for the sake of money.
They no longer accept their responsibilities to their people.
They are forcing them from their homes, often with no more than the clothes on their backs, and using the land for sheep.
It’s not right. It’s not the way things are done in Scotland. People should mean more than beasts.”
Constance shook her head. “It sounds as if it is the Scottish with whom you have a complaint, not the English.”
Disgust laced his voice as he said, “Aye, these landowners have English titles and prefer London to their own country while English troops set fires to burn the crofters out. They’ve left thousands of people with no homes, no land, and no way to feed their children.”
“Isn’t there a magistrate or someone who can use the law against this practice?” Constance asked.
“The English make the laws, lass, and they make them in their favor.”
“Then change them.”
He made an impatient sound as if finding her naive.
“The landowners are powerful. They won’t change a law that works for them.
And they’ll stop at nothing to silence a good man who speaks out for justice.
My father was such a man. He believed in the law.
Taught me to believe in it. When he spoke against the Clearances, when he stood up for his countrymen, he was murdered.
Stabbed by an assassin on his way home from court.
The people took to the streets to protest his murder.
They even caught his murderer, who confessed that he’d been hired.
However, the man conveniently disappeared before he could be tried. ”
“What do you mean, disappeared?”
“He escaped…or so they say.” The twist of Lachlan’s mouth said that he had doubts. “The man was never seen or heard from again. I know. I’ve searched for him.”
Now she understood what drove him. This quest for a sword was personal for him. He wanted vengeance, even if it meant rebellion.
And she didn’t want any of it. She wanted to go home. To return to her beloved Ohio Valley, where she understood the rules and didn’t need to be anyone other than herself.
She also realized something else. “If you plan to use this sword to lead a rebellion,” she said, “then the Duke of Colster must not give it to you. To do so would be treasonous.”
Lachlan frowned. “That’s his problem.”
“He won’t give you the sword,” she said with complete certainty. She didn’t know the Duke of Colster, had only met him once, but she knew his brother. She might think of Lord Phillip as evil and mean…but he was famous for being incorruptible and proud of it.
“You’d best hope he does, lass,” Mr. Lachlan replied.
“Because if not…?” she asked. “What will you do then?”
He looked down at her, meeting her eye. “’Tis the sword or your life.”
Panic choked her. He said it so casually.
She forced herself to be calm. “I know what it means to desperately want something. I want to go home. It’s where I belong.
There is a ship that is leaving Edinburgh harbor in four days time, sailing to New York.
Perhaps there is a way we can both have what we want.
You can pretend you have me. I’ll even write a note, but please, let me go to Edinburgh.
I must be on that ship. I must go home.”
He shook his head. “When Colster gives me the sword, I shall turn you over to him. It’s what must be done. I am a man of my word. You for the sword.”
Constance’s temper exploded. “I despise you,” she said, putting every ounce of her frustration and anger into those words.
“Good,” he answered, spurring his horse, increasing its gait to a gallop. “Keep it that way.”