Eleven
The accusation stung with a hint of truth.
Constance frowned at Fiona. “Where would you gain such—” Words failed her. “—such an idea?” she blurted out, anxious to make the denial.
Yes, she was taken with Gordon. How could any woman not be?
He was all things strong and honorable. He could be considerate and protective, but there was an air of danger about him, too.
He had a man’s needs, yet he chose to rein in his passions—and thankfully so.
Constance had discovered the night before that all her defenses vanished when he kissed her.
But that didn’t equate with love. Lust, maybe—The direction of her thoughts startled Constance. She’d never been one to go moon-eyed over a man.
“My reasons for joining your rebellion are simple,” she assured Fiona.
The Scotswoman crossed her arms. “And they are?”
That she wanted to help Gordon achieve his dream of freedom. But she didn’t say that…because that did sound as if she was falling in love with him.
“I’m an American,” Constance said, grasping for ideas. “We thrive on rebellion.”
Fiona snorted her opinion. “Let me warn you, Miss Constance, I already know your story. You and your sisters are infamous since the oldest married Lord Phillip Maddox, the most eligible bachelor in England. You came to this country to win our men with your looks.”
“I didn’t,” Constance said. “Charlotte dragged me here. I want to go home. I was running away when your brother kidnapped me.”
Fiona indicated the door with a sweep of her hand.
Tad was now sitting up on his hind legs, his ears perked as if he took great interest in the conversation.
“No one is stopping you from leaving now,” Fiona said.
“Come, we’ll pretend I am guarding you.” She picked up the lead rope from the table.
“I’ll walk you to the edge of the camp and then you can push me down and make your escape. ”
Constance pulled her arm away from the woman. “I won’t go.”
Fiona all but sneered with triumph. “Because he has won you over. Don’t trust him.”
“But he’s your brother,” Constance said. “You should support him.”
“Do you support your sister in everything? Is that why you are running away from her?”
Turnabout was not fair play. “The relationship between Charlotte and me is different.”
“Is it?” Fiona shook her head. “Why do you want to return to America?”
Constance crossed her arms around her waist. “It’s my home.”
Fiona nodded as if that had been the answer she’d expected. “It’s what you knew. You had dreams there, didn’t you? I had dreams once, too. I had a place in society. I was to go to London for a Season. I would have married and been happy.”
“How can you be so certain?”
With a shrug Fiona said, “It was expected. I’d been groomed to be the wife of a fine gentleman. I dreamed of that day.”
Constance caught herself before she made a face.
Charlotte had always gone on about what a lady should know and how she should behave.
As the granddaughters of an earl, albeit a disreputable one, Charlotte had insisted that they learn the proper manners so that some day they could return to England and claim their birthright.
Well, here they were in England, Constance thought, and she hadn’t met a single man she’d considering worthy enough to marry—save for Gordon Lachlan.
“What?” Fiona asked, suspicious. “You don’t believe I’m telling the truth, that I was to be a great lady?”
“Great ladies are made in how they think,” Constance said. Those words felt good to speak aloud. She’d had to hold her tongue too often with her sister and Headmistress Hillary. “If you want to be a great lady, then do great things.”
“I can’t,” Fiona said, her eyes narrowing. “My half brother decided to take part in a rebellion. He made me an outcast.”
“No, the men who murdered your father did that. Gordon wants justice.”
Fiona threw down the lead rope and bundle she’d been carrying. “I know that. He was my father, too. I was just as affected.”
“Then why aren’t you as angry?”
“I am angry,” Fiona countered. “My blood boils with anger. But there is nothing I can do about it. Father didn’t think of the impact his stand against our friends, our neighbors, would have on Mother and me.
He was like Gordon, always so concerned about fairness and justice—for everyone else. His wife, his daughter didn’t matter.”
“Your mother is here also?”
“No.” Fiona crossed her arms, gathering the tartan close around her shoulders.
“She died shortly after they murdered Father. It was grief that took her. Gordon placed me with Sir Dougal MacLeod’s family.
Sir Dougal had been a close friend of my parents.
Lady MacLeod had offered to chaperone me during my London Season after the mourning period was over—not that I would have had any prospects.
Gordon used my dowry for this rebellion.
He’s used everything we owned.” A shadow crossed Fiona’s face.
“And then one day, after the rebels were discovered at Nathraichean, English soldiers took me away from Sir Dougal, who didn’t dare put up a protest. He just handed me over. ”
“What did the soldiers want?” Constance asked.
“Gordon.” Fiona took a step away from Constance. “You can think what you like about my feelings toward my brother, but I didn’t give him up. They tried to make me tell them where he was. I wouldn’t.”
And she’d paid a terrible price for her loyalty.
Constance’s heart broke for the woman. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be,” Fiona said with a bitter laugh. “Just leave. Go, so that this will all end. We can’t fight the English, and if Gordon persists, we will all die.”
“You are already in danger,” Constance countered.
“And they will never let him go. He has a price on his head. He has no choice but to fight, and I’m a key to his claiming the Sword of the MacKenna.
Is that why you want me to leave, so he can fail?
Would you choose the opportunity to go to London and marry some man over your brother’s life? ”
“There is no marriage for me,” Fiona said, her voice brittle. “I’m ruined. No decent man would have me. I’m not even fit to be a scullery maid. Gordon is wrong to carry this rebellion forward. People are hurt by it.”
“People are hurt by the cruelty of others. And that is all the more reason to fight,” Constance answered.
She approached Fiona, stopping just short of taking the other woman by the shoulders and giving her a shake.
“Gordon isn’t fighting for his own vanity.
He wants justice for the wrongs done your clansmen.
If that’s not worth fighting for, I don’t know what is. ”
“You don’t understand because you can leave at any time,” Fiona said.
“I do understand,” Constance said. “And I’m attempting to make you realize that you don’t need to be ashamed—”
The leather flap on the tent was lifted.
Both Constance and Fiona expected to see Gordon enter. Instead, a slim woman with curling black hair and vivid blue eyes stuck her head in. Tad growled a warning. The woman looked at Fiona. “Call off the dog.” Her Scot accent was as refined as Fiona’s.
“No one asked you here, Grace,” Fiona responded with even more coldness than she’d shown Constance.
Grace ignored her. “Are the two of you going to come to blows?” she asked in her soft lilting voice. “Because if you are, the other women and I gathered outside would like to see the fight. There’s little entertainment in this camp.”
Annoyed at the interruption, Constance asked, “Who are you?” And what right did she have to put her nose in other people’s business?
“Grace McEachin, the camp whore,” Fiona answered.
“She believes she can do and say as she pleases because she has Thomas eating out of her hand. But not around me.” She didn’t wait for a response.
“Come, Tad,” she said, and with her shawl still pulled tightly around her shoulders, pushed past Grace, then stopped at the door.
“You can come or go, whatever you please, Miss Constance Cameron. I tried to help. You have yourself to blame for your foolishness.”
When Fiona left the tent, Tad followed right at her heels.
Grace released a long sigh. “Every time she adopts that manner, I feel like I’ve just left an audience with the queen.”
“Perhaps she has good reason for being the way she is?” Constance suggested, wanting Grace to be charitable.
The whore would have none of it. “A woman must learn to toughen up to survive. You understand that, don’t you? My impression is that you are a survivor.”
“I’m not dishonest with myself,” Constance replied, “if that is what you are asking.”
Grace cocked her head as if reevaluating her. “So, are you going to leave?”
“How much did you hear?” Constance asked.
“Enough to know” was the cryptic answer.
“No, I’m not leaving,” Constance said, and was pleased to wipe the smug assurance off the other woman’s face.
“Why not?” Grace asked.
Constance bent down to pick up the bundle of food. She had to eat to maintain her strength for what lay ahead. “Because I’ve decided to join your fight,” she said, untying the bundle. There was bread and a hardened piece of cheese in it. She took a bite of the bread.
“Join us?” Grace repeated, no less surprised than Fiona had been.
“Yes. Let’s go out and meet the others.” She started toward the door, but Grace didn’t budge.
“Why would you want to join us?” Grace’s gaze grew speculative. “It’s the Lachlan, isn’t it? He’s caught your eye.”
For the briefest second, Constance wanted to deny it…
then changed her mind. “Aye, it is the Lachlan. A more noble man I have never met. And a more disreputable group of followers I have never seen.” She crossed to stand toe-to-toe with Grace.
“Do you think because you are a willing woman, it gives you airs over the likes of Fiona?”
Grace pulled back. Apparently no one had ever challenged her before.