“We must flee,” she cried.
“Nay, my lady. I must die. And so must you.”
“You are mad.”
“Nay, merely dedicated to saving England from a king who would destroy her. For so long, I have plotted and schemed. When the Highlander stole you away, I had the perfect plan. It could not fail to bring down our king. And now,” he cried, eyes narrowed in fury, “I will not have it snatched from my grasp. If I must die, my lady, so must you, so that my plan will not be thwarted. You will never see your father again.”
More of the roof collapsed around them, sending up a spray of sparks into the darkening sky. Essex seemed not to notice.
Leonora’s mind raced. “They are all dead. There are none left to follow you into battle.”
“But there will be others who will rise up and demand retribution for what happened here. We are on Scottish soil. Your savage will still be blamed for this bloody massacre.” He faltered for a moment, but shook his head to clear it. He seemed to remain standing through sheer force of will. “I know now what you and the peasant woman did. It was very clever. You poisoned our food.”
“Aye. But she is a healer, as well, your grace. Come with me, and Anthea will save you.”
“Enough of your tricks. You speak falsehoods.”
“Please, Essex. The fire—”
“Aye.” He laughed. “The woman, following Alger’s lead, tossed a flaming stick at me when I tried to pleasure myself with her. And then...” He shook his head again. “Then the fog came over me. It is so hard to...” He staggered again and his expression grew darker. “It is... too late.” His eyes were glazed, and she saw his hand tighten on the hilt of the knife. “For both of us, my lady.”
As he lifted the knife, Leonora saw the flash of brightly colored jewels reflected in the firelight and wondered idly why her mind was playing such tricks on her. Then she saw the hand holding the jeweled sword, and Dillon’s tall figure loomed before her, passing right through a wall of flame.
“Release the woman,” thundered Dillon’s voice.
“Nay. You have lost, Highlander.” The duke tightened his grip on Leonora and prepared to plunge the knife.
The jeweled sword found its mark. With a gasp, Essex stiffened, then dropped to his knees. With one quick motion, Dillon pulled the sword free, but from behind him came a ghost from his past.
“Dillon!” Leonora shouted.
He turned and found himself facing James Blakely’s sword.
“It was he who murdered your clan,” Leonora cried above the sound of the fire.
Dillon’s eyes blazed in fury. “Though I resisted the knowledge, my heart knew.”
“I thought I had killed every last one of you,” James said, lunging toward Dillon.
Sidestepping, Dillon avoided his thrust and began to circle, all the while feeling the heat of the flames. One part of his mind noted that Leonora’s only means of escape was being blocked by this English soldier. But another part of his mind could focus only on the fact that this was the man he had waited a lifetime to meet.
“At last,” Dillon said in that deadly quiet way all men had learned to fear, “I will avenge the death of my parents. Know this, James Blakely. You and your son will die this day, and there will be none left to carry on your name. But though you murdered nearly an entire clan of Campbells, our name will be carried on proudly for generations to come.”
With one smooth motion, he thrust his sword through Blakely’s heart. For a moment, the soldier seemed surprised. Then, clutching his chest, he fell into the flames.
Dillon lifted Leonora in his arms and carried her through a wall of fire to safety.
“Oh, Dillon,” she murmured against his cheek as he cradled her against his chest. “You are truly free. Free of the past. Free of the ghosts of your father’s murderers.”
“Aye.”
“I prayed you would come for me, Dillon.”
“Ah, love, how could I not?” He was still trembling at the thought of how close he had come to losing her. “I told Camus I would ride to hell and back for you.”
“This truly felt like the fires of hell.” She gave a weak sigh and watched as the last of the cottage went up in flames, collapsing in on itself with a blaze that leaped taller than the line of trees in the nearby forest.
They looked up as a long line of soldiers crossed the border and raced across the meadow. When they drew near, Leonora recognized the rider in the lead.
“Father!” she cried.
He slid from the saddle and crossed the distance separating them in quick, impatient strides.
“Leonora. Oh, my beloved daughter. I had feared, when I saw the flames...”
Dillon released her and she fell into her father’s arms, laughing and crying. It was several minutes before either of them was able to speak.
While they kissed and embraced, Dillon let out a cry of joy when he spotted two figures riding on either side of Camus.
“Sutton! Shaw!”
The two brothers leaped from the saddles and launched themselves into Dillon’s arms. With a roar of delight, he embraced them, then held them a little away, as if to be certain that they were really here with him.
“How have you fared?” he demanded.
“We are fine, Dillon,” Sutton said.
“Truly?”
“Aye,” Shaw assured him. “Lord Waltham is an honorable man. Though we were held within a chamber in his keep, we were neither shackled nor imprisoned. We were fed and clothed.”
“And the food was served by very... accommodating wenches,” Sutton added.
Dillon shook his head, unable to hold back the smile that touched his lips. “I see that some things never change, my brother.”
“Rupert arrived just as Lord Waltham was about to leave for the Highlands with the king’s own army,” Shaw added. “The English had been preparing for a bloodbath.”
Lord Waltham approached them, with his arm still firmly around his daughter. In his eyes were tears, which he did not even bother to hide.
Extending his hand, he said, “Dillon Campbell, I give you my heartfelt thanks. My daughter assures me that she was well treated while in your Highlands. I know now that it was you who saved her life.”
“And I am equally grateful, Lord Waltham, for my brothers assure me that you treated them in like manner.”
Lord Waltham’s voice deepened with emotion. “Though I was loath to believe him at first, Camus persuaded me of the villainy of Essex and James and Alger Blakely. I should have questioned why they were so eager to go to the Highlands without the king’s army, but my mind was clouded by concern over my daughter. Now that I see clearly, I realize so much more. It was Essex and Blakely who struck the first blow against the Campbells, thus assuring that the Highlanders would be forced to fight back. With men like that slaughtering innocents, peace could never be achieved. When the king learns of their misdeeds, he will see that their heirs are stripped of all lands and titles. And because you risked your life to save my daughter, I will ask my king to reward you handsomely.”
Dillon’s gaze was riveted on Leonora’s face. His voice trembled with feeling. “No reward is necessary, my lord. It is enough to know that the lady is safe.”
At the roughness of his tone, both his brothers turned to study him. This open display of emotion was something they had never before seen in their brother. But Dillon was unaware of anything except the pale young woman who stood quietly beside her father, returning his look with a hunger that matched his own.
“Well.” Lord Waltham cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware of the highly charged emotions between Leonora and Dillon. “We will take our leave of this scene of death and destruction. I have long waited to welcome my daughter back to her rightful place in my home. I am certain you are just as eager to return with your brothers to your Highlands, Dillon.”
Dillon stood very still, watching as Leonora was led to a waiting horse and wrapped in an elegant, sable-lined cape before being helped into the saddle.
Anthea and her children made their way to Leonora’s mount.
“Thank you, my lady,” she said. “It would seem that we are once again in your debt.”
“Nay,” Leonora said softly, “it was your courage and your clever use of herbs and plants that saved us all.”
“You are too modest,” Anthea said. “I merely did what you suggested. But it was you, my lady, who showed such courage. Without you, none of us would have survived.”
“There are no more debts between us.” Leonora said. “Only a deep and abiding bond of friendship.”
As she made ready to leave, Dillon crossed the distance between them and caught her hand in his. At once, a flicker of hope leaped within her. At last, he had found his voice. He would not, could not let her go.
“Farewell, my lady,” he murmured.
“Farewell, Dillon?”
“Aye. We both know it must be so. But know also that I will think of you always, Leonora Waltham.”
She swallowed. “And I you, Dillon Campbell.”
Oh, Dillon, Dillon. Tell my father how you feel, she thought. Ask me to stay, her heart begged.
She felt tears spring to her eyes and cloud her vision, and still he stood, watching her in that silent, watchful way he had. He infuriated her. She hated him. She loved him. Oh, sweet heaven, how she loved him. And there was no way to speak of the things she held in the deepest, darkest recesses of her heart.
“Godspeed, my lady.”
“And you, my laird.”
A call went up from the head of the column of soldiers, and they began moving out at a smart pace. Lord Waltham wheeled his mount and returned to his daughter’s side.
“Are you ready, my dear?”
“Aye, Father.”
With a last, lingering look at Dillon Campbell, she was forced to follow the line of soldiers. At the top of the meadow, she turned for a final look. He was still standing where she had left him. He lifted his hand in a salute, and, her heart breaking, she waved and turned away toward home and England.
~ ~ ~
“Ye’re not hungry, m’laird?”
Mistress MacCallum stared at the perfectly roasted venison, the tender vegetables from the garden, the brandied pudding. All untouched on the laird’s plate.
He had been this way ever since he’d returned home with his brothers. Instead of the rejoicing they had all anticipated, a dark pall seemed to hang over Kinloch House.
“Nay, Mistress MacCallum. I have no appetite.”
“But—”
“Let it be, Mistress MacCallum,” Father Anselm said softly.
With deep sadness, they watched as Dillon pushed away from the table and summoned the hounds, who trailed eagerly as he led the way to his chambers. Once there, he closed the door, shutting out the sounds of laughter between Sutton and Shaw, closing out the sounds of life. He wanted no part of life or laughter. They merely reminded him of what he had lost.
He had not lost her, he reminded himself sternly as he crossed to the balcony. He had sent her away. His damnable sense of honor had cost him the only woman he had ever loved.
Leaning a hip against the ledge, he glanced toward the tower and could make out the silhouettes of Rupert and Gwynnith, feeding the doves. The little servant spent an inordinate amount of time these days up in the tower with Rupert. The lad’s wounds had miraculously healed, and to hear Mistress MacCallum tell it, it was all due to the love and devotion of the young servant.
Love and devotion. Perhaps they were some sort of miracle. They were indeed rare. Without them, life was little more than bleak existence.
The two silhouettes turned toward each other, the taller head bent, the shorter head lifted. Then the two merged and Dillon turned his gaze away, feeling like an intruder.
The land below was a sight that had always stirred his blood. These fierce Highlands had never failed to thrill him. The weather had gentled, leaving the countryside bathed in brilliant colors of summer. Vivid purple heather covered the meadows. The leaves of the oak and alder, pine and birch were deepest emerald green; the lochs a clear, clean blue. And yet... he turned away, unable to bear the beauty of the scene below him.
From his chaise, he idly lifted the tapestry Leonora had discarded... how long ago? Could it really be a fortnight? He and his men had remained in the Lowlands, helping Brodie of Morayshire rebuild his cottage. It had postponed, for a few more days, his return to the emptiness of his life in the Highlands. But every day, Anthea had talked endlessly about the English lady’s courage in the face of danger. She had described Leonora as the most magnificent woman she had ever met.
Magnificent. Aye. The thought of her brought a fresh stab of pain.
Dillon studied the heavy tapestry of rich crimson and gold. The stitches were fine and even, the images amazingly lifelike, depicting a man and woman on horseback. The woman wore a gown of deep purple, and above her head was the seal of England. The man wore the rough garb of a Highlander and carried a jeweled sword. Dillon glanced toward the sword hanging above the mantel. She had captured it perfectly.
The tapestry told the story of her abduction from her father’s home to a Highland fortress. There were the English soldiers in the forest, and the crofter’s cottage in the Lowlands. With needle and thread she had drawn Flame, riding bareback across a meadow, Rupert and his doves, sweet Gwynnith and plump Mistress MacCallum, surrounded by the servants. Each intricate detail had been meticulously embroidered.
Dillon closed his eyes, imagining her as she had sat, fighting the loneliness of her imprisonment here in his chambers. Though she wore the simple white gown of a peasant, with her hair falling long and loose to her waist, her beauty had rivaled that of a queen.
If only his sister would be content to pass the time in such a sedate fashion. The lass worried him. So foolish. So headstrong. So determined to imitate her brothers. If only she had been blessed with a sister like Leonora, the lass might have learned the art of being female.
Ever since his return, Flame had been as moody as he. Though her wounds had healed, she had been sulky and petulant, riding the hills at breakneck speed, staying out at times until almost dawn. Come to think of it, he had not seen her at table. He shook his head. How could he fault her for avoiding meals when he did the same?
He set the tapestry on a table and crossed to the fire. Tossing another log upon it, he stood and leaned a hand on the mantel, watching as the flame licked along the bark.
How could he bear the long days and nights, the endless years without his beloved Leonora? When would he be able to put aside the pain and get on with his life?
As the dark brooding thoughts swirled through his mind, he ignored the loud tap at his door. “Nay, Mistress MacCallum. I have not found my appetite. Leave me.”
The tap sounded a second time, and the hounds leaped up and began to whine. Flame’s muted voice could be heard through the closed door. “I have ridden long and hard, Dillon. I will not be shut out.”
“Go away, Flame. I am in no mood.”
“Nor am I. Now open this door.”
As the pounding increased, he tore across the room and threw open the door. “Have you no respect for my privacy?”
“Nay. None.”
The smile on her face was so galling, he could not bear to see it. He turned away in disgust, muttering, “You are a heartless wench.”
“Aye. And you are a fool, Dillon Campbell,” she said to his retreating back. “But one of us had to atone for your mistakes.”
He stared dully into the fire. “What nonsense do you speak?”
“You shall see.” Her voice faded as she slipped from the room.
He turned back, intent upon locking the door against any further intruders.
He blinked at the vision who stood before him She slid the hood of her ermine-lined cape from her head to reveal a mass of dark tangles. Her cheeks were the color of fresh apples, as though she had been riding a great distance.
“Leonora.” He stood very tall and straight, afraid to move, lest the vision disappear. “Are you truly here?”
“Aye.” She took a step toward him, and the skirts of a crimson satin gown swirled around her ankles.
“I have not dreamed you?”
“Nay, Dillon. I am no dream.” She moved closer and touched a hand to him. “I am real.”
“But how—” He stopped, then tried again. “Why have you come?”
“Flame brought me. She said she feared for you, Dillon. Feared that your poor heart might never heal.”
“She was right to fear it, for I feared the same. Ever since I returned, the memory of you here in Kinloch House has haunted me. Everywhere I look, I see you. Even in sleep, I find no release from the pain. I feel lost and lifeless.”
“Aye,” she whispered. “I have felt the same way. Oh, my love, what are we to do?”
“What can we do?” He clenched his hands at his sides, afraid to touch her. For if he did, there would be hope for them. “’Twould break your father’s heart if you were to renounce your land and live here with me.”
“It will break my heart if I do not, Dillon.”
Her words, spoken so simply, stunned him. “You would leave your father’s home? The home of your birth?”
“Is that not what women have done from the beginning of time, my love? Is it not right that I embrace all that you love, and make it my own?”
He lifted an open palm to her cheek, touching it lightly before drawing his hand away abruptly. “I would not wait for approval from your king, nor the blessing of your father, Leonora. I could not bear to send you back to England until proper arrangements are made. I would demand that we wed at once.”
Because of his stern demeanor, she tried not to laugh. “I would expect no less, my laird.”
“You have thought this over carefully?”
“Very carefully.”
He sighed deeply, feeling a welling of passion that threatened to swamp him. “Ah, my beloved Leonora. I had given up all hope of having my dream fulfilled. And now...” He framed her lovely face with his hands and pressed a kiss to her lips.
At once, the heat danced between them, and he drew her into his arms, kissing her with a hunger that startled them both.
As he took the kiss deeper, she whispered, “We will notify Father Anselm that we are to be wed at once.”
“Nay.” As she started to pull back, he dragged her against him and savaged her mouth with kisses. “The morrow will be soon enough to go in search of the good priest.” He dropped to his knees, pulling her down with him. “As for tonight, I have far better plans, my love.”
With a sigh, she gave herself up to the pleasure of his love. Love. It filled her heart, her soul. She would not question how it happened, nor when. She knew only that she would love this savage Highlander for a lifetime. And beyond.