Standing on the balcony of Dillon’s chambers, Leonora watched the courtyard below as Camus Ferguson and Graeme Lamont approached their waiting horses. While Camus joked with the stablemen, Graeme hauled a young serving wench into his arms and kissed her soundly. She tried to break free but her struggles only seemed to inflame his ardor. With a cruel laugh, Graeme squeezed her breasts, then tossed her aside. The wench’s cries brought a frown from Camus, who spoke sharply to his friend before pulling himself into the saddle. As Graeme mounted his steed, he happened to glance upward and caught sight of Leonora on the balcony. A sneer twisted his lips. With an exaggerated bow in her direction, he urged his horse into a run until he overtook Camus at the crest of a hill. The two friends shouted something unintelligible, then went their separate ways in search of soldiers for the anticipated battle with the English.
A short time later, Leonora observed Dillon as he prepared to ride toward the village. He mounted his horse in the courtyard, calling instructions to Mistress MacCallum and Stanton, the stable master, as he did. Before setting off, he glanced up at the balcony. Though he did not acknowledge her presence, she knew that he had seen her. His smile fled. His spine stiffened. He rode away without another glance in her direction.
Flame, dressed in the garb of a stableboy, raced across the courtyard and pulled herself into the saddle. Horse and rider left in a cloud of dust and followed a trail across a high meadow. Dillon’s sister, Leonora mused, seemed always in a hurry. Leonora wondered how the lass had managed to persuade her brother to allow her to ride, thus avoiding the household chores, which she seemed to detest. Perhaps the lass was doing this without her brother’s permission. Leonora smiled. That would seem more in keeping with Flame’s character. Strong-willed and impetuous.
After the clatter of so many horses, a silence seemed to settle over the castle, leaving Leonora feeling alone and bereft.
By midmorning, the sound of footfalls echoed along the hallways outside the door, as maidservants bustled about, seeing to their chores. In the courtyard below, workmen could be seen going about their work. In the distant fields, peasants tended their crops.
Everyone had something to do. Even the lad who stood silently by the door, watching her, had a duty to perform.
What twisted irony, Leonora thought. How many times had she wished she could step back from the hundreds of chores necessary to keep her father’s households running smoothly? Since her mother’s death, she had been overwhelmed with so many responsibilities. And now, she was distraught because this enforced idleness required of her naught but to sit and wait. Wait for what? War? Rescue? Death at the hands of her captor? Nay, she thought fiercely. She must not sit and wait. She must act if she hoped to escape this prison. But how?
She paced the length of the sitting chamber, back and forth. Each time, she would pause by the balcony, and stare off into the distance. Somewhere across those green hills was England. Father. Home. Freedom.
In her mind she worked out elaborate ways to escape. The most obvious way would be to distract her young guard and slip away. A bold plan took shape. Turning to young Rupert, she announced imperiously, “I have need of something to occupy my idle fingers. I could do some embroidery, if you would supply me with cloth and needle and thread.”
The poor lad had been given no such orders, and hesitated a moment before answering. “You will remain here,” he said in his strange whisper.
As soon as he strode from the room, she hid herself beneath the sleeping pallet. When she heard his footsteps return, she lay as still as death, praying he would not hear her unsteady breathing.
“My lady,” came his cry of alarm.
She heard his booted feet stride from sitting chamber to sleeping chamber and back. With a muttered oath, he dashed from the room, calling to the guard. Leonora waited until the sound of their footsteps receded, then she slid from her hiding place and dashed from the room.
Because she had no knowledge of Kinloch House, she knew not where she was headed. She knew only that any room was preferable to the chambers in which she had been held prisoner.
Hearing footsteps, she stepped inside a small closet and cowered beneath a pile of furs. In the hallway she could hear raised voices and hurried footfalls as the servants fanned out and began searching.
“She has not yet left Kinloch House,” announced Rupert’s voice very near her, “or the guards would have seen her. Send for the laird. No one is to rest until the prisoner is found.”
Leonora sank deeper into the furs and remained as still as a doe in the forest when confronted by danger. By the time the morning had fled, she was sound asleep.
~ ~ ~
Leonora awoke to the sound of muffled voices. The door to the closet was yanked open. Keeping her eyes tightly closed, she prayed that she would not be found out. With heart pounding, she waited. Suddenly, the furs were torn away. Her eyes blinked open. And she found herself staring into Dillon’s angry, narrowed eyes. Without a word, he hauled her from the closet and dragged her toward his chambers. Once inside, he bellowed for Rupert. The lad stood, cowering and quivering, in abject misery.
“Forgive me, my laird,” he whispered. “The lady asked for needle and thread.”
“And if she had requested a sword, lad?” Dillon’s tone was flat as he struggled with his temper. “What would you have done?”
Rupert studied the floor.
Turning to Leonora, Dillon said, “You have what you requested.” He pointed to the brightly colored threads and needles atop a pile of cloth. “You have also sealed your fate, woman. You will not leave my chambers again.”
He turned and stalked out, leaving her alone with her guard.
For days afterward, everyone in Kinloch House walked softly around the laird, whose mood was black indeed.
~ ~ ~
For Leonora, the days passed in an agony of waiting. These chambers, and this silent youth who guarded her, became her whole world. Had it not been for the little she could observe from Dillon’s balcony, she would have felt completely isolated. Except for her embroidery, she had nothing to do but brood and scheme.
The evenings were no better. A tray of food, consisting mainly of bread, meat and gruel, was brought to Dillon’s chambers. While her youthful guard was permitted to go below to sup, another guard would take his place. When the door opened, she spied two more armed guards in the hallway. Another guard stood watch in the courtyard below the balcony. Dillon Campbell, it seemed, was leaving nothing to chance. He was not about to lose his prized pawn in this deadly game.
The nights were the worst. She slept in all her clothes, with the fur throws bundled around her for an extra measure of modesty. Oddly, Dillon rarely returned to his chambers until late into the night. And though she always pretended to be asleep, she was forced to listen to the whispering night sounds as he moved about the room, removing his clothes, snuffing out the candles, stoking the fire. When he crawled into the pallet beside her, she was forced to hold her breath, lest he discover that she was awake. The thought of his hard, muscled body lying next to her was enough to make her heart race and her blood chill. Sleep often eluded her until the first streaks of dawn light painted the horizon.
The hours of sleeplessness began to take their toll, and she found her energy fading and her nerves strung tautly.
In the mornings, Dillon always managed to be dressed and gone before she awoke, as though avoiding any contact with her. For that she was most grateful.
~ ~ ~
“I would have a word with you.” Father Anselm caught up with Dillon as he paced along the darkened path of the garden. It occurred to the old priest that the laird spent a great deal of time these nights pacing the garden path. Could it be that Dillon was avoiding his own chambers? And the female who resided within them?
He studied the firm profile. Aye. The highly principled lad who had reached manhood under the tutelage of the monks would not lightly give in to the temptation of an English lass. It would be, to a man like Dillon Campbell, an admission of weakness. As laird he had to hold himself to a higher standard than others.
The priest looked at him with new respect. Dillon had never taken the easy road.
“Aye, Father. What is it?” Dillon paused and waited while the robed monk caught his breath.
“’Tis the lady.”
Dillon’s brows knit together in a frown. “What about the lady?”
“All of Kinloch House whispers about her confinement in your chambers. Do you think the lass should endure bread and gruel as part of her punishment?”
“Would you have me treat her like royalty?”
“Nay.” The priest placed his hand on Dillon’s sleeve. He could feel the knot of tension beneath his touch. “But I would ask a favor.”
Dillon waited.
“I would visit the lady.”
“Beware your change of allegiance, Father. Do you visit the lady as friend and comforter?” Dillon’s tone was low with anger. “Or do you intend to smuggle in meat and ale, and offer her a weapon with which to defend herself against her cruel captor?”
“Nay, Dillon. You know better than that. I do not involve myself in civil strife. I go as priest and confessor.” He found himself wondering about the tension in his young friend. Was it the strain of having his brothers imprisoned in England? Or perhaps the sparring with his gentle captive here in his home? Whatever the reason, the laird’s tension was a living, palpable thing. “I will carry nothing on my person that the lady could use as a weapon.”
Dillon rubbed an old ache at his shoulder. “Visit her, then.” He turned away, then paused and turned back. His voice in the darkness was tinged with sarcasm, as he recalled her attack with the decanter. “But keep a close watch over your sandals and prayer book, or the woman will find a way to relieve you of them, as well. They may be neither food nor weapon, but she will find a way to use them to her advantage.”
The priest smiled. If he did not know better, he would suspect that Dillon Campbell was beginning to regret his hasty actions in taking the woman captive.
At the knock on the door, Leonora looked up in surprise. It was too early for her tray.
Rupert opened the door, then stepped aside to allow the old priest to enter.
“Father Anselm.” The pleasure in Leonora’s voice was genuine. She put aside her embroidery and crossed the room to take his hands. “How is it that you are allowed to visit?”
“I sought permission from Dillon. I come as a servant of God.”
“Ah.” She nodded and led him toward a settle pulled in front of a cozy fire. “I am most grateful to see you. I wish I could offer you some refreshment, but, alas, I have nothing.
The priest studied her with gentle eyes. “I need no refreshment, my lady. It is I who should be offering you sustenance. But all I can offer is spiritual refreshment.”
She folded her hands primly in her lap. “It is enough that you came. I was feeling so isolated.”
“Are you troubled in your mind, lass?”
She shrugged. “I try not to be. But sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night, I find myself wondering if I will ever see my father again.”
He placed a hand over hers. “You must not lose hope, my dear. Your father and Dillon Campbell desire the same thing, the release of those most dear to them. With such a common bond, it shall come to pass.”
“My father is a man of honor,” she said with feeling.
“As is Dillon Campbell.”
“How can you say that?” Suddenly agitated, she got to her feet and began to pace in front of the fireplace.
“Because I have known Dillon since he was a lad. I will never forget the day we met. Would you care to hear the story?”
She paused and lifted her head. She had no interest in the savage, she told herself. But it would help to pass the time. “Aye. If you wish.”
He told her of the sounds of battle that had drawn him to the Highland meadow, and of the bodies of the men, women and children that littered the field until the ground ran red with their blood. And of the lad, who had bravely shielded his brothers and sister with his own body, with no thought to his own safety.
She became so caught up in the tale that, by the time he had finished, she was forced to turn away to hide her tears. She thought of her own childhood of wealth and privilege. She had taken for granted her safety and comfort.
“Who took them in?” she asked, keeping her gaze on the fire.
“Dillon, Sutton and Shaw came to live at the monastery. Flame was sent to a nearby abbey, where she lived until her brothers sent for her.”
Knowing how the girl adored her brothers, Leonora said softly, “It must have been terrible for the child to have been separated from them for so many years.”
“Aye,” he said thoughtfully. “That long separation has made Flame guard her brothers jealously. She sees every woman as a rival, my lady. Especially the woman who might turn the head of her eldest brother. To her, Dillon is her strong, noble protector.”
Leonora turned slowly and saw that the priest was watching her closely. She felt the sting of heat on her cheeks, but blamed it on the fire and returned to her place beside him on the chaise.
“What sort of child was Dillon, Father?”
“A serious lad. He seemed to stand apart from the others. Though he indulged in many of the pranks and mischief that most children indulge in, he seemed impatient to reach manhood and avenge the death of his parents. The anger that burned inside him was frightening to see.”
“Anger at the English?” she asked.
“At first. But that faded with time. It became a deeper anger. Aimed at all injustices. That is why he was the perfect choice to meet with your father to discuss peace between our countries. He is known throughout Scotland as not only a just man, but a fair one.”
“Would a fair man confine me to this prison?” she challenged.
In answer, he glanced around the comfortably appointed chambers, at the cozy fire, the fur-draped chairs. Getting slowly to his feet, Father Anselm said gently, “I would ask if you believe Dillon’s brothers are confined to such as this, my lady. Or are they, perhaps, languishing in a cold, cruel dungeon?”
Leonora hung her head in shame.
Father Anselm touched a hand to her shoulder. “Would you like my blessing before I go, my lady?”
“Aye.” She knelt and he lifted his hands in a benediction.
With a brief word to Rupert, he was gone.
~ ~ ~
Leonora began to look forward to the priest’s visits. The hours passed quickly in his company. Moreover, because of his fondness for a sip of spirits in the late afternoon, he began to smuggle in small amounts of wine, hidden in the folds of his robes. The two of them would sit together, enjoying a bit of wine and the warmth of the fire.
Father Anselm was a fine storyteller. Through his words she began to see a portrait of Dillon’s early years. The picture that emerged was of a strong, deeply moral lad who bore the full weight of responsibility for his brothers and sister. A natural leader who, by his very nature, drew others to trust and follow him.
“How did he become laird?” she asked one afternoon.
The monk lifted a goblet of wine to his lips and drank deeply before answering her. “’Tis not enough for a Highlander to be a natural leader among men. The real test of his manhood lies on the field of battle. And there, my lady, Dillon Campbell has no equal. He is both fearsome and fearless. A most compelling force indeed.” Father Anselm’s voice lowered. “I have seen him after a battle. There is a look in his eye...” He shook his head. “He is a man driven. Woe to anyone who faces Dillon’s wrath. ’Tis both terrible and wonderful to behold.”
Leonora thought about the way Dillon had leaped to the defense of his brothers. Even the swords of a hundred soldiers had not stopped him. There had been a look about him. She sipped her wine. Magnificent. That was the word that always came to mind when she recalled the scene in her father’s castle. Dillon Campbell had been the most magnificent warrior she had ever seen.
~ ~ ~
In frustration, Leonora asked her solemn guard, “What do you do when you are not watching me?”
Rupert blinked. For a moment, he seemed uncertain what to do. After a long, uncomfortable pause, he seemed to have decided that the beautiful Englishwoman deserved a reply.
“Ofttimes I ride with Flame. The lass is my responsibility.”
“Your responsibility?”
“Aye. Decreed so by her brothers. The lass is headstrong, and takes many foolish chances. It is my duty to see that she does not come to harm.”
“Does Flame know you are watching out for her?”
The boy blushed. “Nay. Dillon swore me to secrecy. The lass would be furious if she knew that her brother had ordered me to be her protector.” He seemed suddenly aware of what he had revealed. “You will not tell her?”
Leonora shook her head and smiled gently. “It will be our secret.’’
Rupert looked greatly relieved.
“Besides,” Leonora added, “I doubt the lass will ever have occasion to speak with me. It is obvious that she shares her brother’s hatred for the English.”
The lad flushed and she realized she’d hit a nerve. Everyone in Dillon Campbell’s fortress, in all his land, it seemed, shared such a hatred.
“What do you do when you are not looking out for Flame?”
For the first time, a slow smile touched Rupert’s lips. “I tend to my doves.”
“Doves?”
He nodded. “I constructed a pen up on the rooftop of the inner wall of the fortress. The doves are my friends. They know the sound of my voice, and whenever I climb up to feed them, they perch on my hands and head and shoulders.”
“How wonderful.” Leonora smiled at him. “I wish I could see them.”
His face became animated; his eyes danced with an inner light. “Would you like to?”
“Aye.”
“I shall ask Dillon if you can be allowed to leave his chambers and accompany me to the tower.”
She folded her hands behind her back and stared at the floor. “Dillon would never permit it.”
“Aye. I fear that is true.”
She glanced up, favoring him with her most persuasive smile. “We could see the doves now, and be back in his chambers before he returns.”
Oh, how Rupert wished he could visit his precious doves. He sorely missed them. But not even the woman’s smile could induce him to disobey his laird’s orders again. He shook his head. “That would not be right. My laird said you must not leave these rooms.”
“But it would be our secret. Dillon need not know.”
“But I would know. I have been given a task. I will perform it, or die trying.”
The lad was so solemn, she could think of no argument that would persuade him to change his mind. Besides, if the truth be told, she felt a twinge of guilt for having tried to trick the slow-witted Rupert into defying Dillon’s orders again. Perhaps Dillon Campbell was a harsh taskmaster. Perhaps, if this lad disobeyed him, and she managed to escape while under his watchful eye, Dillon would have him put to death. It was what she would expect from these Highland savages.
“I understand, Rupert,” she said, lost in thought. “I would not have you punished by your laird.”
“The laird would never punish me, my lady. ’Twould be punishment enough to know that I displeased him.”
The lad turned away in sadness. He wished there was some way to put the smile back in the beautiful Englishwoman’s eyes.
~ ~ ~
“The lady has asked to see my doves, my laird.”
Dillon glared at him.
First, she had charmed the priest. Dillon had sniffed the scent of wine in his chambers. The next day, keeping watch on Father Anselm, he had seen the priest accepting a decanter from Mistress MacCallum and hiding it in the folds of his robes before going up for his daily visit with the Englishwoman. It was obvious that even that sweet old man of God was falling under her spell.
And now, though he had ordered Rupert not to speak to the prisoner, it was obvious that the lad had told her about his doves.
“You spoke to the woman?”
Rupert ducked his head, his face flaming. “I... may have said a word or two. The lady has a natural curiosity about all things, my laird. But I warned her that she would not be permitted to see them.”
After a pause Dillon surprised him by saying, “I see no harm in it.” The truth was, he was feeling guilty at the harsh punishment meted out to the lass. But she had to learn the rules of war. It was the way of all prisoners. Why should she be any different?
Leonora’s only food had been tasteless biscuits and thick gruel, which had gone untouched. And, of course, the wine Father Anselm had managed to sneak in.
Each night, as he lay beside her, he had to fight an almost overpowering desire to kiss her again. But he knew that, under cover of darkness, one kiss would lead to another. And that would only take him over the edge. Hating him the way she did, she would never consent, and the thought of taking a woman, even an enemy, by force, went against everything he had ever believed in.
He found himself often prowling the gardens until late into the night. When he returned to his chamber, he managed, through sheer willpower, to endure the endless nights. By day, he avoided her as much as possible.
Though the woman had grown considerably thinner, her spirit had not been broken. If anything, she had become even more defiant, not only by refusing food, but by refusing to speak to him unless commanded to do so. To fill the lonely hours, Rupert reported that she had begun imitating the voices of the women around her. Her favorite was Mistress MacCallum. She could mimic every inflection of the housekeeper’s speech. Perhaps, Dillon mused, if he let her see the doves, this show of good faith on his part would soften her demeanor.
The rawboned youth’s eyes darted with genuine pleasure at the prospect of sharing his precious doves with the prisoner. “Will you tell her, my laird, or shall I?”
“I will tell her, Rupert. You may go to the tower.”
Dillon made his way to his chambers and dismissed the guards. When the door opened, he saw her standing on the balcony, her gaze fixed on the horizon, a look of hunger in her eyes.
“If only you could fly like a little bird.” His words bespoke her innermost thoughts, twisting the knife in her heart.
She turned. “Aye. I would be free. Free of you. Free of this hovel.”
He ignored her taunt. “You wish to see Rupert’s doves?”
She tried to hide her surprise. She had expected that this request would be coldly refused. “Aye. With your permission.”
“I grant it.” At her arched look he added, “I will accompany you.”
“To make certain I do not fly away?”
He merely smiled and turned away. With a frown of impatience, she followed him down the hallway and up several flights of stairs until they reached a tower. Rupert stood eagerly awaiting their arrival.
She and the lad had spent so much time together, that, even though they rarely spoke, they had developed an easy camaraderie.
“From this position atop the highest tower, you can see clear to England, my lady.” He pointed and she followed his direction.
“Is it truly England?”
“Aye.”
Behind them Dillon watched the way she clasped her hands together until the knuckles were white. He allowed her a long time to drink in the view of green, fertile lowlands and beyond them, a sweep of English countryside, before saying gruffly, “We will see the pigeons now, Rupert.”
“Aye, my laird.”
The lad opened a heavy door that led to a walkway ringing the tower. Outside was a wooden pen with tiny compartments. Each compartment held a cooing bird.
As they approached, the cooing grew louder. Rupert threw open the tiny doors, freeing the birds. There was a great whir of wings as gray and white and black doves lifted into the air and circled gracefully. From his pocket Rupert removed a handful of seeds. As quickly as the doves had ascended, they descended, landing on the lad’s head and shoulders and hands. For a moment, their wings continued moving, like giant butterflies. Then their movements stilled, and they cooed as they gently pecked at the seeds he offered them.
Leonora was enthralled. “Look how they trust you,” she said softly.
“Aye, my lady.” The lad’s words were spoken almost reverently.
Beside her, Dillon flinched. Trust. If only he could trust the woman. But that was something to be earned through mutual respect. Something a Highland laird and an English noble could never hope to achieve.
“Did it take a long time to earn such trust, Rupert?”
“Aye. But it was worth it.” He lifted a dove to his lips and the bird touched its beak to his lips. “I am mother and father to them. And friend. No matter how far away they might fly, they will always return to me. And no matter how long they are gone, I know they will ne’er forget me.”
“Then it is more than trust. It is truly love.”
Dillon felt a shiver pass through him at her words.
The lad turned to her. “Would you like to hold one, my lady?”
“Oh, aye.” She clapped her hands in excitement. “Would they permit me to touch them?”
“If you do as I say. You must make no sudden moves, my lady. Stand very still and let them get to know you.”
He took her hand and transferred one of the doves to her finger. The pale gray bird watched her as she lifted it close to her face. In a gentle voice, she began to murmur words of endearment. As if mesmerized, the dove began to coo.
Dillon stood back, watching her with wary eyes. How gentle she was. How in tune with this big, gentle lad. When had these two dissimilar people formed such a strange bond?
His gaze slid to the dove. With gentle coaxing, it had grown calm and trusting.
Rupert handed her several grains, which she offered to the bird. Though hesitant at first, it finally pecked at the grains. At the first touch of its beak, she drew her hand away with a jerk.
“Nay, my lady. Do not be afraid. It will not hurt,” Rupert assured her.
She flattened her hand and tried again. This time, the bird pecked at the grain and she didn’t flinch. When the grains were gone, she laughed delightedly.
“Oh, Rupert. They are all so lovely. I can see why they bring you such pleasure.”
The lad beamed with joy at her words. “Most here at Kinloch House think me a fool for spending so much time with the doves. After all, they are not useful like the horses, or protective like the hounds.”
“All of God’s creatures serve a purpose, Rupert. Even if it is only to make our world a more beautiful, gentle place in which to dwell. In fact, they may be the most noble purpose of all. To add light and beauty to our dark lives.”
At her words, Dillon turned his head to study her more carefully.
“Aye, my lady. That is what my doves have brought to my life. Light and beauty. But the others do not understand.”
“That is because they have not seen you with them. If they saw what I just saw, they would not only understand, but share your love for these beautiful creatures.”
He lifted his arms and the flock took to the air with a great flapping of wings. For long minutes, they circled. Then, at his simple command, they returned to perch all over him.
Realizing that the lad needed to be alone with his doves after having been denied them for so long, Leonora said, “Thank you for allowing me to see your doves, Rupert. I will leave you now.”
She turned and followed Dillon back inside the tower. When she glanced out the window, Rupert was still surrounded by his beloved birds. On his face was a look of radiance.
Dillon led the way down the darkened stairway toward his chambers. His thoughts were not on the darkness, but on the light and beauty cast by this complex woman.