Sixteen
Take the girl.
Constance wasn’t certain she’d heard Gordon correctly. He couldn’t be talking about her.
It wasn’t until the duke swept her down from Tempest’s back that she realized she hadn’t been mistaken.
Gordon gathered Tempest’s reins and, without so much as a sideways glance at her, mounted and rode off, holding the Sword of the MacKenna high above his head. The Scots cheered.
Constance wanted to go after them, to grab him and demand an explanation.
Instead, she rounded on the duke, pushing him away so he was forced to set her on her feet. “What did you say to him?”
Charlotte came running to her side. “Constance, are you all right?” she cried as she threw her arms around Constance’s shoulders.
But Constance didn’t have time to talk to her sister. She had to stop Gordon before he left her. She pushed away to see the Scots riding away, shouting their battle cry. Gordon was already gone.
He’d left her.
A cold numbness stole through her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
“What has he done to you?” Charlotte worried.
“Come.” It was Miranda, on her other side. Constance hadn’t even realized she’d approached.
But she wasn’t going to leave. Not yet. She dug in her heels, turning to the duke. “What did you say to him?” she demanded.
To his credit, Colster didn’t flinch. “I asked him to think of you, of what was best for you.”
Constance’s first thought was to scream No, this couldn’t be good for me. “In what sense?” she wondered. “My heart belongs to him.” Couldn’t he see?
Lord Phillip, who had also joined them, swore colorfully before starting for his horse. “I’m riding after Lachlan, and when I get my hands on him—”
The duke grabbed him. “No. Phillip, you’ll make it worse.”
“How could it be worse? You gave him that damn sword.”
“Because he is a good man,” Colster said. He looked at the small knot of them gathered in the middle of the field. “I believe Lachlan will do what is right. Let the Scots think on my offer. They will see the wisdom of it.”
Lord Phillip shook his head. “I hope you’re correct, because you have just placed this whole family in jeopardy.”
“Phillip,” Charlotte warned, placing a loving hand on his arm, a wifely wish for him to keep the peace. He covered her hand with his.
“I want him to be prudent,” Lord Phillip said.
“He has been,” Charlotte answered.
Lord Phillip shook his head but held his tongue.
“We need to take Constance home,” Alex said. He had joined them, to stand by Miranda. “And my wife needs to sit.”
Constance looked to her middle sister. “Yes, you must take care of yourself.”
“I was too worried about you to stay behind,” Miranda said. “Alex has been furious with me for insisting I come.”
“You didn’t need to,” Constance answered. “I wanted to stay with the clan.” And yet, she felt the pull here, as well. She crossed her arms, realized she still wore the Lachlan tartan, and hugged it even closer. “I love him. I love him so very much.”
“And he cares for you,” the duke said. “He left you here for your own protection.”
Constance brushed a stray strand of hair back from her face. She saw the worry in her sisters’ eyes. She felt odd, as if she didn’t belong here. Didn’t belong anywhere.
“I’ve changed,” she informed her sisters quietly. “I’ll not return to Madame Lavaliere’s.”
“No,” Charlotte agreed, shaking her head. In fact, everyone appeared to have grasped that Constance and Gordon had been lovers. Explanations had not been necessary.
Where would she go now? Constance wondered. Her dream of sailing on the Novus seemed a distant memory. And through the sadness came a bolt of pure anger. Gordon hadn’t had faith in her. In them.
He’d walked off. She never would have. And now, what was left for her save pride?
“I believe it’s time we left,” she said, self-conscious at how closely everyone watched her, even Alex and the outriders they had brought with them. She didn’t wait for help but started toward the coach. A footman helped her inside.
This was a plush coach, the likes of which Constance had never seen before.
The exterior was painted a dark green, the Colster coat of arms on the door.
The seats were a buttery soft leather trimmed in velvet.
There was a pillow and a blanket. She helped herself to them as she settled in the corner of the compartment.
A terrible coldness was creeping into her bones.
Miranda and Charlotte climbed in. Charlotte said, “You might want to let Miranda use the pillow. She’s in a delicate condition—” when Miranda interrupted.
“Sleep, my dear sister,” she said to Constance. “Don’t worry about us. Nurse your heart.”
Tears burned Constance’s eyes as she closed them. Miranda could be counted on to understand. Charlotte was too pragmatic. She always fretted over what they should do next. She did so now with her usual indefatigable energy.
“We shall have to see her married, and quickly,” Constance overheard her whisper to Miranda. “Mr. Fryson said that most of the girls knew she had disappeared from the school. Rumors will start. However, if there is a babe from that Scotsman, she’s more than ruined.”
Miranda hushed her. “There’s time to worry about that later. I’m just happy we have her back without bloodshed.”
Constance thought of Brian and his poor ear. She could tell Miranda what Alex had done. She was certain it wouldn’t surprise her. Alex could be ruthless…So could Gordon. Look at what he’d done to her.
In the end, before she escaped into sleep, Constance decided that of the two, Gordon was the more hardened.
“We have the Sword of the MacKenna!” Thomas burst out triumphantly, nodding to the sword Gordon had looped through a piece of leather on his saddle. “I didn’t think you would succeed,” he said. They were halfway back to camp and Thomas couldn’t hide his pleasure.
He grinned at the other men riding with them. “Wait until this news is spread throughout the Highlands,” he crowed. “The man with the sword could become King of Scotland. There are those who would pay the price on your head and more for that sword.”
Gordon kept his own counsel. Thomas bragged enough for both of them. Some of the men agreed with him, but a good number more were as silent as Gordon.
Instead, his thoughts were on Constance.
Colster had been right. He had nothing to offer her, nothing save his heart. Or what was left of it now that he’d given her up.
Over the past months, years, he’d forced himself to believe that they could fight the English. He’d nursed every injustice—the clearing of the lands, his father’s death, Fiona’s rape—using them to keep his belief in the Cause alive.
Gutted by Constance’s loss, he faced stark reality. There was no way all the Highlanders together could fight the English. The clans were too weak, although that wasn’t the only reason. No, the times had changed. His countrymen had grown more English.
Always before, he’d taken pride in his rebel status. He was not afraid of death…or so he’d thought.
Constance had made him want for other things. To yearn for a family, for peace. He could see himself practicing law…coming home to a wife and child. These were visions his anger had barred him from seeing before.
But was it too late to have those things?
“What is eating at your mind, Gordon?” Thomas asked, trotting alongside him. He didn’t wait for an answer but said, “If it’s the woman, forget her. There are plenty enough women in the world. And more than a few anxious to climb into your bed.”
“It’s not like that, Thomas.”
“She hasn’t turned you soft, has she?”
Guilt pricked Gordon’s conscience. “I chose the sword, didn’t I?”
Thomas hummed his doubts. “What were you and Colster discussing when you had your heads together back there? You appeared close as mates.”
“He didn’t want to give me the sword,” Gordon said, fobbing the question off.
The giant frowned. “There is something wrong here. She’s changed you.”
Gordon made a half laugh, but he didn’t deny it. “Does it matter?”
Thomas’s gaze narrowed. “You wouldn’t be thinking of turning on us, would you now?” he suggested.
The charge shocked Gordon. “You know better.” Had he not just proved himself? But then an errant thought caught him off guard. Why would Thomas leap to such a conclusion? Gordon knew enough about men that they rarely accused someone of thoughts they hadn’t had.
“What an odd idea, Thomas.”
A dull red flush crept up Thomas’s neck. “What do you mean?”
“I would not doubt you,” Gordon said with a shrug.
“’Twas not loyalty I was questioning,” Thomas averred. He snorted his disgust. “And you’ve spoiled my good mood. I’m proud we have the sword.” His tone implied Gordon wasn’t.
Gordon could feel the men around them look at him askance. “Go to the devil, Thomas,” he answered, and kicked Tempest into a gallop, using speed and the wind in his face to clear his head of regret.
Immediately, everyone else followed his pace, and it was practically a mad run until horses and riders were exhausted.
Thomas didn’t make any more jibes at Gordon, and they managed to reach camp in some sort of harmony with each other.
Those who had stayed behind were gathered to greet the men as they rode in. Gordon immediately noticed Fiona and Grace standing together. They both searched the party with their eyes, and he knew they were hoping to see Constance.
His sister’s gaze met his. He saw her disappointment. Grace burst into tears when she realized the truth. When Grace went running off, Fiona went after her.
Not even Tad greeted him, but lay with his head down.
Gordon dismounted. The sword weighed heavy at his side, especially with the added disapproval of his clan. He headed to the stables, the better to let everyone adjust to the idea of Constance’s absence and have their say among each other.
He had no doubt that they would discuss Colster’s offer. He’d just finished turning Tempest out when a group of the older men approached him. Old Rae spoke for them. “We hear Tavis has offered land.”
“Aye, he has,” Gordon said carefully.
“Where is it?”