Chapter Thirty-Four

I think she’s comin’ to.”

“We should keep her asleep. We’re running oot of herbs.”

“What would ye have me do, Tristan? Hit her over the head with the back of m’ sword?”

“Nae, Will, though a hilt to yer temple would give me great pleasure.”

Asleep. Then she wasn’t dead. Anne tried to open her eyes but it was no use. She could move nothing. Perhaps she was dead and in hell. Some would say she deserved to be in that fiery place, but hell didn’t smell like leather and peat, did it?

She tried to remember what had happened to her. Most of it was a blur but… her horse. Someone had killed her horse. Someone had tried to kill her.

Flashes of a man’s face flitted across her mind. Dark eyes shadowed beneath the brim of a hat.

A lilting voice.

The barrel of a pistol.

She moaned. It sounded terrified, even to her own ears.

“There now, Yer Majesty,” a voice said above her. Was it the voice of the man who had been about to shoot her in the face earlier? “Ye’re safe now.”

Safe? Where was she? The ground beneath her felt unusually soft. Was she in a bed? Who moved her inside? Why couldn’t she feel anything? She wanted to lift her hand to her face to know if she still had a face, but she couldn’t move her arms.

“My faither said we should no’ speak to her, Uncle.”

“Adam,” replied his uncle, “one day ye’ll have to make decisions fer yerself or yer sister will surely take yer birthright.”

Someone laughed, then swore, and finally went silent when the one called Tristan admonished him.

Who were they? Why did they want her dead? She thought about weeping but then decided against it. She was the queen. She didn’t weep in front of her enemies.

She thought about Daniel as she drifted off. He would find her and he would kill these bastards and then bring her home.

She didn’t wake up until some time later. By then, whatever herbs her captors had given her had worn off, leaving every bone in her body in terrible pain.

She hated herself for doing it, but she wept. She just couldn’t help it. She was certain she was dying, or going to die at the hands of these men.

“Why?” she whispered, barley managing that.

At first, no one answered her. But then, someone moved closer to her. Warmth from his body seeped into her and for a moment she welcomed his presence.

“Drink this,” his deep voice commanded softly.

She moved her head away and tried to shake it. Was it poison? Would they stop at nothing?

“Come now, Yer Majesty,” the voice said, sounding strangely comforting. Like a sorcerer’s whisper it made her want to obey. “ ’Tis whisky and ’twill help yer pain.”

Oh, she needed something to help with the pain. She tried to lift her head and then flinched when his big, rough hand slipped beneath her nape. He lifted her just a bit and she parted her lips and drank from his cup. While she did, she lifted her lids and got a good look at him.

She’d never seen him before. She would have remembered if she had. His chestnut hair was lightly dusted at the temples with gray. A little longer than shoulder length, it was tied neatly back at his nape. He looked to be about her age, in his mid-forties, give or take, with a very slightly crooked nose and extraordinarily beautiful eyes painted in shades of green and gold. She remembered eyes like his from somewhere, but she couldn’t place them. He smiled and a single dimple in his cheek beguiled her senseless.

“A bit more then, aye?”

His voice was so tender that it almost made her weep again. No one had been this nice to her in years, save Daniel.

Where was Daniel?

“Who are you?” she asked in weak whisper.

“I’m called Tristan.”

Another man spoke his name in a warning above them. This one was more commanding, not as friendly. Anne glanced up at him standing a few inches away. My, but he was huge. A Highlander, judging by his size and the great belted plaid he wore… they all wore plaids, draped around their bodies.

“Easy, Rob,” Tristan said. “I’m no’ a fool.”

“She’s been through much. Let her rest fer now,” the one called Rob said.

“Why… are you trying… to kill me?” she managed. Whatever was in that whisky worked quickly at numbing her pain. Her spirits actually felt a bit better as well.

Rob yanked a chair away from the wall and set it down beside Tristan. He stared at her with eyes the same shade of blue as a painting she’d seen once of the Mediterranean. His hair was shorter than Tristan’s and darker, almost black but for streaks of silver shot through.

“This is Rob.” Tristan introduced him with a dashing smile Anne would have found most enthralling if she weren’t their captive. “My brother.”

Yes, she saw the resemblance. What did they want with her? Should she ask? Did she want to know?

“Why have you kidnapped me? My general will—”

“We havena’ kidnapped ye,” Rob advised. “We saved yer life from Cameron MacPherson, who was aboot to shoot ye in the head.”

Cameron MacPherson. She remembered now. He’d killed her horse. “His name is familiar to me.”

“It should be.” Again it was Rob who spoke. “He’s the leader of the largest Jacobite rebellion in Scotland.”

Anne closed her eyes. The Jacobites. Would they never cease tormenting her?

“She’s fallen back to sleep. Poor lady has been through much with all her broken bones.”

She opened her eyes and was tempted to smile at Tristan. He was kind and confident and he reminded her of Daniel.

She couldn’t be certain, thanks to the thick fog filling her head from their potent whisky, but did he say all her broken bones? How many were there? She began to ask when a large, wet tongue licked her from her jaw to her temple. Hot breath descended on her next and she turned slightly to the panting jowls of an enormous dog—at least, she thought it was a dog. It could have been a misshapen lion with all its thick, golden fur.

“Ettarre, dinna’ bother the queen.” Tristan pushed the beast away. The hound hardly moved and whined as though she’d been struck.

“She may stay,” Anne said and closed her eyes again. It was amazing how calm and relaxed she felt. Why, she hadn’t felt this serene in years. “I think she likes me.”

“I think she does too,” Anne heard one of the men say. It could have been Tristan, or his brother Rob… or Daniel.

Robert MacGregor stood over the queen of Great Britain and rubbed his jaw. He hadn’t planned on this happening. That bastard MacPherson would have killed her if they hadn’t been watching him for the past day and a half.

Aye, it was true, Rob and his kin were Jacobites. They would have gladly fought a battle to bring King James’s son to the throne, but they would not attempt to murder the queen. Hell, she was Rob’s sister by marriage. That made her kin, whether he liked it or not.

He didn’t like it at all.

He let his eyes move over her, taking in her broken body. What the hell were they going to do with her? Both of her legs were broken. Her left shoulder had been dislocated until Will, cold bastard that he was, set it back in place while she was unconscious. Her right wrist was broken, along with two ribs. They’d bound her up tightly to keep her from moving and thanks to Tristan’s wife, Isobel—who knew more about injuries and illnesses than a physician—Rob’s brother knew what herbs to give her and how to set her bones. Bruises covered over half her body from her terrific fall. She was fortunate to be alive.

Aye, fortunate for her. As Jacobites, it would have been easier for them all if she hadn’t made it. But hell, he hadn’t been about to let MacPherson shoot her in cold blood. Davina would never have forgiven him, and neither would Tristan.

He turned to have a look at the knight who called himself a Highlander and shook his head at how easy it still was for Tristan to melt a woman’s resolve.

“What are we goin’ to do wi’ MacPherson?” Will appeared at Rob’s side, a thin twig of straw dangling between his lips. “Darach’s havin’ too much sport wi’ him in the stable.”

Damned hellion, Rob thought, thinking of his bard’s only son. Darach Grant was nothing like his father when it came to mercy.

“Did he at least discover why MacPherson tried to shoot the queen?”

“Other than the fact that he’s a Jacobite and she’s sitting on a throne that belongs to her brother, ye mean?”

Rob angled his head and gave Will the dark scowl his comment deserved. “Aye, other than that.”

Will shrugged. “ ’Twas as Colin suspected. Richard Montagu wants her dead and paid MacPherson to do it. He also promised him a stretch of the most fertile land in Scotland once the deed was done.”

“Montagu isna’ doin’ this to aid the Jacobites,” Rob said out loud. “Colin’s correct. The Earl of Manchester wants to be king. He could be more dangerous to Davina than anyone else in England.”

“Aye, I agree,” Will said.

“We need to tell her.”

“Aye, she should know her cousin plans her demise,” Will looked at Anne in the bed where she was sleeping. Uncharacteristically, his gray eyes softened just a bit. “ ’Tis a difficult thing to hear aboot yer kin.”

Rob nodded. He wondered what kind of life the queen had led and if his beloved Davina could have lived it. The thought of men trying to kill his delicate wisp of a wife enraged him.

“Are we goin’ to tell the queen who we are?”

“Nae,” Rob answered. “She found Davina on Skye. She’s clever. If she discovers that I’m Davina’s husband ’twill only be a matter of time before she finds out aboot Camlochlin.”

“We should bring her back to St. James’s then. Let her own physicians tend to her.”

“Look at her, Will. The instant her captain general gets one look at her, he’ll seek revenge. My daughter is in his care, lest ye ferget. Who will prove to him that we were no’ a part of Montagu’s plan?”

Will thought about it for a moment then nodded his head. He turned at the sound of his dog, Ula, and her brother Goliath fighting over a scrap of meat Adam had tossed their way.

Ethan Headly, the proprietor of the brothel they were staying in, stopped in his tracks upon entering the room and paled at the long, snapping teeth of the hounds blocking his path.

Headly knew Rob’s nephews, including Edmund and Malcolm, who sat at a table by the hearth with Gaza, mother to all the hounds, sleeping quietly at their feet. Rob didn’t care to know what the lads had done here in years past. Edmund was married now, as were almost all the rest of them. None of them gave the prostitutes any attention or coin while they stayed there, which wouldn’t be much longer if the dogs weren’t controlled.

There was only one thing to do. Rob strode toward the snarling beasts. He didn’t have to bend down to grab each one by the scruff of the neck. “Enough!” he shouted with such authority both beasts whined and sank to the ground.

Rob turned to his son next and peered at him with sharp eyes. “Take them to the barn and sleep with them there tonight.”

Adam didn’t argue, most likely because he’d find himself a warm lass to sleep with.

Damn it. Rob missed Davina. He missed her so much he was tempted to ride into the queen’s palace, snatch back his daughter, and get the hell out of England once and for all.