The Rebel #5
He was still as tall and slim as she remembered, but he had aged since she last saw him. His hair was bone white and pulled back in a braid, his skin had grown wrinkled, and he wore spectacles on his nose.
Carefully he navigated his way around tables piled high with dusty books and approached her. He removed his spectacles. “You look so much like your mother.”
Elizabeth’s heart swelled with both sorrow and joy, as her uncle pulled her into his arms and lovingly embraced her.
“I am so happy to see you,” he said.
“And I, you,” she replied, weeping and laughing at the same time.
Eventually he stepped back and fixed his spectacles on his nose. “I learned of your father’s death,” he said, “fighting for King George. I am sorry, Elizabeth.”
She dropped her gaze. “Thank you, but I am afraid there is more bad news. James was killed as well, three weeks ago. I am the only one left of our family.”
Charles laid a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “No, Elizabeth. You are not alone. You have family here.”
She clung to her uncle’s steady gaze. He tapped her nose with the tip of his finger, as he used to do when she was a child, then glanced away, towards the door, where Alex was waiting.
“Who is this man?” her uncle asked. “And why does he carry such a big sword into my bookshop?”
Alex strode forwards. “My apologies, sir. I am Alexander MacLean of Duart Castle, and I fought in the battle at Sherrifmuir. That is where I met your niece.”
“He has been my protector, Uncle,” she quickly explained. “I was lost and alone after James was killed. Alex found me on the battlefield and saved my life. He has delivered me here safely, so I owe him a great debt.”
“As do I, it seems.” Charles reached out to shake Alex’s hand. “Thank you for bringing my niece home. I should like to repay you somehow.”
Alex shook his head. “There is no debt, sir.”
“My wife is upstairs tending to our children,” Charles replied. “Will you at least stay for supper?”
Elizabeth’s heart began to pound, for she knew what Alex’s answer would be. The time had come. He was going to leave her now, and she would have to say goodbye.
But she was not ready. She did not want to see him go …
Alex paused. “I’m afraid I must return to Perth as soon as possible.”
Every breath in her body came short. Her knees went weak under the weight of her anguish.
His eyes locked with hers, and neither of them spoke for what seemed an eternity. He palmed the hilt of his sword, and she wet her lips, feeling as if someone was slowly ripping her heart out of her body. She should say something. She should beg him to stay, just one more night …
“I wish good fortune to you both.” Alex bowed slightly, then turned and headed for the door. It opened and closed with the tinkle of a bell, and before she could work out what to do, he was gone.
The whole world fell silent, except for the beating of her heart in her ears, like thunder over her head.
No …
Picking up her skirts, she dashed around the tables piled high with books, and ripped the door open on its hinges.
She hastened out into the street. Her eyes darted left and right.
His horse was already gone. Crowds of people and carriages obstructed her view in both directions.
Where was he? And why hadn’t she told him how she felt? How could she have let him go?
“Alex!” She rushed down the street, shouldering her way past hordes of people who blocked her way. Reaching the corner, she stood up on her toes. “Alex!”
But he was nowhere. He had left her to return to his home in the Highlands, and it was not likely she would ever see him again.
She laid her hand on the corner of a building, rested her forehead against it, and closed her eyes.
A flash memory of the first moment she saw him on the battlefield came hurling back at her, and she remembered the frightening sound of their steel blades clashing against each other, and the fury in his eyes before he struck her down with his targe …
Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined the battle would turn out quite like this. She had not expected to surrender so completely to her enemy – in heart, body and soul.
It was a particularly wet spring in the Highlands, and by the end of April, Edinburgh was an utter sea of muck.
Elizabeth had spent the winter mourning the death of her brother, while helping her uncle in his bookshop, assisting customers and organizing his inventory.
Her cousins – two boys and one girl, all under the age of ten – lifted her spirits with laughter and games, but each night, after she read them their stories, she retired to her own chamber and whispered a quiet prayer for the safety and happiness of the Highlander who had rescued her from her vengeance.
He never ventured far from her thoughts, and she often wondered what he was doing at any given moment during the day.
While she was gazing out her window at the moon and the stars, was he, too, admiring the night sky from somewhere on the Isle of Mull?
She liked to imagine him riding his horse through a lush green glen, his dark hair blowing in the wind, his tartan pinned at his shoulder with that exquisite brooch she had once touched and admired.
Eventually she began to think she was idealizing his memory, turning him into some sort of god-like, mythical hero, and she tried very hard to push him from her mind.
Then one day, on a clear afternoon at the end of April, while she stood on a stool dusting the books on the highest shelves – the door of the bookshop opened and closed.
The hanging bells chimed with their familiar hollow sound, and she heard light footsteps across the plank floor as she so often did, but she did not look away from her task, for her uncle was out front.
Something, however – something she could not begin to explain – caused her heart to beat a little faster. All the tiny hairs on her arms stood on end.
Lowering the dust cloth to her side, she stepped down from the stool and peered around the tall bookshelf. A dark-haired Highlander stood with his back to her while he spoke to her uncle. He wore a kilt, with a sword sheathed at his side.
Was it Alex? A hot fireball of excitement dropped into her belly, and she sucked in a breath to steady herself.
Do not be foolish, Elizabeth. You’re dreaming again. Surely it couldn’t possibly be …
Then he turned around and met her gaze, and her heart exploded with a burst of radiant bliss. It was him! Her handsome, heroic Highlander!
What was he doing here? What did he want?
Struggling to contain the juddering thrills that were dancing up and down her spine, she swallowed hard and smoothed out her skirt, before taking a few tentative steps forward to say hello.
They met in the centre of the shop, where sunlight streamed in through the windowpanes, creating a sparkling beam of hazy, dreamlike rapture.
“Alex.”
She could think of nothing else to say.
His eyes filled with joy. “Ah, lassie. I’m pleased to see that ye did not forget me.”
Elizabeth laughed out loud. “Forget you? Are you mad?”
They regarded each other with affection and a familiar sense of calm.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her uncle quietly disappearing up the stairs.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, careful not to get her hopes up. Perhaps he had simply walked into the shop to purchase a book.
“Can ye not take one look at me and answer that for yerself?”
There was such hope in his expression. It was contagious, and she experienced a wild, kicking desire to throw her arms around his neck and dance a reel around the room.
“You came to see me?”
Oh, how ridiculous it was to speak with such casual curiosity, when her heart was practically beating out of her chest!
He flashed a smile that dazzled her witless, then laid a hand on the side of her neck, his thumb brushing lightly over the sensitive flesh behind her ear. The touch of his huge warrior hand sent a flood of desire through her entire body.
“Of course I came to see ye, lass,” he replied. “I’ve thought of nothing else all winter long but yer bonnie face and feisty nature. I could not live another day apart from ye. I had to see ye again.”
“Is that all?” she asked. “You just came to see me? To say hello again? And then goodbye?”
He ran the pad of his thumb over her parted lips, and shook his head. “So stubborn, as always. Can ye not accept that I am in love with ye, and that I mean to ask ye to be my wife?”
All the thoughts in her brain toppled over each other. It was a terrible calamity of epic proportions. “I … What are you saying?” She was completely breathless.
He laughed. “Doona play innocent with me, lass. Ye know very well what I am saying. This is a proposal. But if it’s too quick for ye, I’ll settle for courtin’ ye for a short time, at least until ye can make up yer mind whether or not ye wish to love me.”
Her need for him erupted out of the joy in her heart. “Of course I wish to love you. I’ve loved you since the first moment I came charging after you on that battlefield.”
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
With a cry of euphoric laughter, she threw herself into his arms and knocked him backwards into a stack of books that toppled off a table on to the floor. A thick cloud of dust puffed into the air.
“Or course it’s a yes,” she said with a smile, pressing her lips to his and tasting a glistening slice of heaven in his kiss. “I am so happy.”
He held her close, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. “As am I, lass. My heart is yours, and I promise to love ye and make ye happy for the rest of my days. I will protect ye and give ye everything that is mine to give.”
She hugged him tight, she knew without doubt that he would keep his word. “And I make the same pledge to you.”
Then at last his mouth covered hers, and the world was suddenly, miraculously, peaceful and perfect.