As High as the Heavens (10 page)

She was a strange one, Duncan thought, watching
Heather Gordon draw up before his home and glance
about her. Her manner, though she took great pains to
mask it, was one of trepidation mixed with curiosity,
overlaid by a haughty demeanor he sensed was more
a screen to hide behind than a true aspect of her inner
self. How he knew this he wasn't certain, and that surety
was most unnerving.

Did he perhaps desire for the woman to be attractive
in every way, that he saw what he wished so desperately
to see? The consideration gave Duncan pause. If it were
true, he had never acted in such a foolhardy manner
before-a manner that, in the bargain, was a dangerfraught way to risk one's heart.

Dismounting, Duncan strode over to Heather Gordon.
Behind him, the others of their party began to follow
suit, climbing off their horses to stretch stiff limbs.

"Here, lass," he said, lifting his arms to her, "allow
me to assist ye."

She stared down at him for a long moment, her gaze
cool, assessing. Then she shook her head.

"Nay. I'm a competent horsewoman and can well dismount on my own."

Duncan grinned and stepped back. "Have it yer way,
then. I but wished to act the proper gentleman." He
angled his head, a roguish smile on his lips. "It is what proper gentlemen do, isn't it? Offer a lady whatever she
wishes?"

Heather grimaced, then gave a brusque nod. "Aye."
She paused to slide down off her horse, then turned to
him. "But a gentleman also knows when to back away
and not press so hard."

Duncan's smile never wavered. "Then I trust ye'll see
to that aspect of my education as well, lass."

"Ye can be sure of it."

Satisfaction filled him. He liked her spirit. For all her
fine manners and breeding, Heather Gordon had grit and
wasn't easily intimidated. She intrigued him in so many
ways-her pale golden beauty, her sharp intelligence,
her poise and proud spirit.

More than anything he had ever wanted, Duncan
wanted to pull Heather to him and kiss her. He wanted
to pierce her prim and proper reserve and see what lay
beneath. Some instinct assured him a warm, passionate
woman lay just beyond that haughty reserve. A woman,
he realized with growing unease, he very much wanted
for his own.

It was daft to consider such a thing. Why, he barely
knew the lass and, all jesting aside as to his purported
appeal to those of the feminine persuasion, he believed
in the sanctity of marriage and in saving himself for the
woman he would eventually take to wife. Besides, for
what seemed the hundredth time in the short span of a
day, Duncan reminded himself that Heather Gordon was
so far above him in social standing as to be completely
and permanently unattainable. Yet, in spite of it all, he
desired her still.

That realization was the most disturbing one of all.
Only a fool dreamt of what he could never have. Only a
fool allowed unrequited need to gnaw at his innards until
he died from the festering wound. Indeed, until this moment, Duncan had always prided himself on accurately
assessing and resolving each situation to his advantage,
and never, ever, being led to play the fool.

Even if it were to play the fool for the bonniest lass he
had ever laid eyes on.

Stepping aside, Duncan, with a gallant sweep of his
hand, indicated Heather should go ahead of him. "If ye
please, lass, my mither and home await yer consideration. For yer sake, at least, I pray ye find both to yer
liking."

Heather shot him a disdainful look. "Yer mither, I'm
sure, I'll find quite suitable. Yer home, though, may well
be a different matter."

As she headed toward the cottage, Duncan fell in beside her. "Well, it's no grand manor house, to be sure,
but we find it verra pleasant."

In reply, Heather could only manage a skeptical sniff
before they halted in front of Duncan's foster mother.
A woman in her late fifties, she, like her husband, had
red hair, though her gray-streaked tresses were a deeper
shade of auburn. Her eyes were hazel, her body reed
thin, and she leaned heavily on a gnarled wooden cane.
Like many Highland women, she wore a plain, tancolored homespun blouse and a long plaid skirt of brown,
green, and yellow. Over that was added another long
plaid that fell from her shoulders to her heels, belted at the waist and fastened on the breast with a large brooch
of silver.

She awaited them on the immaculately swept doorstep of a large, drystone house thatched with heather
and bracken. Besides the stout oak door, the front of
the dwelling sported two paned glass windows, which
Heather knew to be extremely rare for the Highlands.
In the afternoon sun, the glass sparkled from what was
obviously frequent and meticulous cleaning.

"My name's Fiona, miss," the woman said as she extended her hand and managed an awkward curtsey.

The effort to rise from the curtsey even with the aid of
her cane, however, seemed impeded by some infirmity.
Fiona lost her balance and tilted forward. With startlingly
quick reflexes, Duncan grabbed his mother's arm, righting her. Fiona shot him a grateful, loving glance, then
smiled at Heather.

"Ye'll be forgiving my poor showing, miss, if ye will,"
she explained, "but I've had a bout of dropsy for the
past month that won't subside. The swelling in my legs
makes them a wee bit cumbersome."

"Then it's best if ye take to yer house and have a seat,"
Heather said. "It's said to be the best remedy for the
dropsy-putting up yer feet, I mean-besides the use
of the leaves of the fairy fingers plant." She motioned
to Duncan. "Help yer mither, will ye, sir? No purpose is
served lingering out here when she's obviously ailing."

"Och, but it's not proper to lie about when guests have
come to call," Fiona protested, pulling back when Duncan made a move to escort her inside. "I'll not have it said a Mackenzie shamed the clan by failing to offer
proper hospitality."

"Yer hospitality is fine indeed, madam." Heather
moved to take Fiona's other arm. "Rest assured neither
my father nor I find aught to fault." She met Duncan's
quietly assessing gaze and, with a sharp jerk of her head,
indicated they should go inside.

He answered with a brief smile, then turned his attention to assisting his mother. With the greatest tenderness
Duncan led the way, escorting her to a crudely handcarved but well-made high-backed chair comfortably
padded with cushions. Heather helped as needed, all
the while marveling at how gentle even a big man such
as this Highlander could be.

It was evident from the care he took, and the look of
concern on his face, that he loved his mother. The realization startled Heather, though when she paused to
consider it further, she knew her assumption was both
unfair and unrealistic. Even uneducated, simple folk
were capable of love and tenderness.

Perhaps it was just her eagerness, even need, to consider Duncan Mackenzie in a negative light that had
motivated her deliberate misperceptions. If so, it wasn't
right or fair. And it was most certainly beneath her to
act thusly. Was she so afraid of him and his potential
power over her that she must take such pains to view
him so poorly?

Shame flooded her. With a fierce effort, Heather forced
a heartfelt smile.

"Ye're a fortunate woman, madam." She knelt and
shoved a footstool beneath the older woman's feet.

With a grateful sigh, Fiona settled back into her chair.
"How so, miss?"

"Ye've a devoted son who obviously cares deeply for
ye." Heather glanced up and met Duncan's intent gaze.

A look of surprise flared in the depths of his eyes. She
smiled, her gaze not wavering from his. It's the least I
can do, she told herself, for my unkind thoughts. And it's
also the truth, in the bargain.

"Aye, that he is," Duncan's mother agreed. "And ye're a
canny lass to see it, too." Curiosity brightened her eyes.
"Is that why ye came here today then? Because ye and
Duncan have fallen in love and wish to wed?"

For a long moment Heather stared at the other woman,
both speechless and dismayed. It didn't help matters
that Duncan Mackenzie stood there smiling with avid
interest even as he awaited her reply. What was she to
say that wouldn't offend the mother without encouraging the son?

She shot Duncan a scathing glance, then turned to
Fiona. "It isn't so much a matter of a special affection,"
she began carefully, smiling all the while. "Leastwise,
not in the manner of true love and all. Rather, I've come
to assist yer son in a grand scheme to rescue the queen
from Lochleven."

Fiona frowned in puzzlement. "A scheme to rescue
Mary? And ye and Duncan are involved in it?" She lifted
her gaze to her son. "And what is this, my fine lad? What
have ye gone and gotten yerself into this time?"

Duncan grinned. "It'll all be explained in due time,
Mither."

At that moment, Malcolm, accompanied by Robert
Gordon, Angus Mackenzie, and Beth, walked in. Duncan looked up. He met his father's glance, then motioned
Malcolm over.

"Yer wife seems verra interested in the reasons for
this sudden gathering of visitors. Mayhap, while I offer
the others some of our fine Highland hospitality, then
show the Lady Gordon to her quarters, ye should share
the details wi' her."

Malcolm nodded. Pulling over a stool, he sat and hurriedly began regaling his wife with the particulars of the
plot. For the next few minutes, Duncan busied himself
with settling in Robert Gordon and Angus-each with a
generous cup of heather ale-before turning his attention back to Heather. As he did, Tavish Gordon walked
in, having finally finished putting up the mounts. His
arms were loaded with the first of the many bundles his
mistress had brought along.

Duncan strode over and quickly relieved the big, sandyhaired Scotsman of a few of the bundles. "Best ye deposit
these in the lady's new bedchamber. No purpose is served
scattering her belongings about the house. Fortunately
for Lady Gordon, my room is spacious." He turned to
Heather. "If ye will, come along wi' us. I'm sure ye've a
need to wash up and attend to whatever fine ladies attend to afore ye eat the midday meal."

For a fleeting moment, a look of defiance flared in her
glorious eyes. Her soft, full lips pursed as if to utter some
disparaging reply. Duncan tensed, a jolt of excitement
shooting through him. By mountain and sea, how he
loved it when Heather responded to him-in any way!

Then the fiery look died and her mouth went slack.
"Aye, that would be most appreciated," she replied, her
voice soft now, controlled.

Duncan scowled. What had he said to elicit such a
sudden change in her behavior? Had his mother's innocent question offended her? Or, rather, he thought
with a wild swell of hope, had it struck closer to home
than she cared to admit?

He firmly quashed that consideration. Ye're playing the
fool again, Duncan, my lad, he lectured himself sternly.
Even if the lass finds ye a wee bit brave, she isn't emptyheaded enough to allow her emotions to rule her. Nay, and
certainly not for a rough, baseborn man such as ye.