A Highlander Never Surrenders (13 page)

Graham looked over his shoulder at where Claire was sitting, her long pale braid gathered at her rump. He tightened his jaw remembering the softness of her hair when he swept it from her face to better gaze at her profile. The taste of her still lingered on his mouth, his tongue. The memory of her laughter invaded his thoughts like a warning that he would never forget the sound of it.

“And Claire. Who has she been promised to?” Mayhap he could find the bastard and shove a dagger in his throat.

“Do you care for her?”

Grabbing Robert’s tunic, Graham hauled him close. “Rob, I’ve never struck ye, but I vow before God that I will if ye do not answer me. Who has he promised her to?”

“Me!” Robert pushed off him. Then, sounding more defeated than Graham had ever heard him sound before, he repeated. “He’s promised her to me.”

For a few moments, Graham simply stood in his spot, not believing what he’d just heard. “Ye will refuse him.”

“I tried. Graham, he is the governor. His word is law.” Robert’s gaze drifted toward Anne. He had to make her understand that not wanting her sister was no insult to her, and then he would . . . “I will—”

“Ye trust him then and will do as he commands?” Graham’s eyes shone like flames. His expression grew so dark and hard that for an instant, Robert was certain this man, who had saved his life many times, would strike him dead now.

“Aye, I do trust him, but if you care for her I will go back to Monck right now and refuse her. I don’t care—”

“Ye do care.” Graham cut him off. The rigid angles of his face dissolved into resignation. “Ye ferget I know ye well, brother. The law means much to ye.”

“Aye, it does. But your happiness means more.”

Graham smiled, though he felt as if he’d just been kicked in the chest. She was promised to Robert. She could never be his. And hell, did he want her to be? No! She enthralled him. He was curious about what she’d be like in his bed. That was all. Nothing more. He would not have his friend go back to the castle and lose his integrity, mayhap even more than that, by fighting the governor on this. Why should he care whom she married? He didn’t want a woman weeping over him every time a battle needed to be fought. Although Claire would likely want to join him. Now there was a frightening thought, watching the woman he loved bleed on the field. He shook his head to clear it. Damnation! why was he even thinking in terms of love?

“Of course I don’t care fer her. You will do as the law says.” He knew, for Robert, there was no other choice. “She means naught to me.”

“Are you certain?” Robert worried.

“Aye,” Graham assured him, hooking his mouth into a roguish grin. “Ye saved her from me, Rob.”

“Very well then.” Robert didn’t look relieved. “I don’t want her to know yet. She will never believe her brother promised her to a Roundhead. It will only convince her that Monck lies. She might take Anne and flee.”

“There is the possibility that Monck deceives ye.”

Robert nodded, but looked even worse than before when he said, “It is best if we do not tell her of Anne’s betrothal either. At least until we meet with Buchanan. I have a message to deliver to him from the general. Monck trusts him, but I do not know if I do. Why would Connor Stuart agree to hand his sister and his lands over to a Roundhead, and not his close friend?”

They spoke for a little while longer about the meeting with Monck, and then with nothing else to say, Graham walked away. He did not return to the fire, to her. He had to get Claire Stuart out of his thoughts. She was betrothed to a man he considered his brother, and Graham would never betray him.

He had to put her out of his thoughts.

It would not be difficult. She meant naught to him. Naught at all.

Chapter Twelve

W
ho has seen the great warrior arrayed in the frost of winter? Alas, he has perished. And yet, he lives.

When he returned to the camp later that night, Graham knew he was doomed. He could not stop thinking about her. He could not stop looking at her, watching her every movement, listening to each word she uttered to her sister—to Robert. She seemed a bit softer, less guarded now that Anne was returned to her. When she smiled, he felt as if someone had taken a hook to his guts. What had come over him? Never in all his life had he let a lass affect him this way. He’d promised himself long ago that he never would. How could he ever give his heart to a lass knowing that each time he rode into battle he might not return? He knew the pain it caused. He’d seen it, lived it when his father was killed and his mother wept until there was little left of her.

He did not care for Claire Stuart. He wanted her. Aye, that was all. He wanted her and she was the one woman he could never have. Hell, why Robert? If she’d been promised to someone else, Graham would have taken her and to hell with the law. But she was to be
Robert’s
wife!

He scrubbed his hand down his face, looking at her across the flames, wanting to kiss her, touch her, caress her, hold her to his body and feel the slow yielding of her surrender, her soft curves molding to his hard ones. He wanted to hear her laughter again, taste her, take her, and . . . And what? What then? What would he have done once he had a true taste of her? Likely, the same thing he’d done to countless other women; walk away. She was better off with Robert, a man who believed that everyone was born to love, that there was more to life than fighting and rutting. Graham knew better. He always had. War was all that was certain and lasting in his world. Life was short and love was fleeting. He was better off free of anyone who caused him to worry about dying. He was better off without her.

“Graham.” Robert dragged his attention away from the sweet contours of Claire’s face. “Monck knew of Connor’s disappearance, but not of his death.”

“How can you be certain of that?” Claire asked him, looking up over the flames. “He could have been deceiving you as he did to my brother.”

Aye, Graham thought. And what would Robert do if he’d been tricked by the general? Would he stand with Claire when she sought the governor’s life as payment for his betrayal?

“Claire,” Anne said quietly, dragging her sister’s attention to her. “I have spent these many weeks in General Monck’s care. I do not believe he betrayed Connor. There must be more to this than you have been told.”

Grateful that someone else among them believed in Monck’s innocence, Robert spread his warmest smile on Anne and then flicked his gaze guiltily back to Claire.

“Anne, our brother was killed on his way to London after he received word from the governor telling him to go there!” Claire exclaimed when every eye turned to her, awaiting her answer. “Is that not enough to prove Monck’s guilt? Our parents were sent to London, never to return. Think you Connor would have gone there if not commissioned to go by someone he trusted? You know I speak true,” she added when Anne lowered her gaze to her hands folded in her lap. “Knowing the price on his head, Connor used every precaution.”

“Then Angus was correct.”

Claire cut her glance to Robert. “About what?”

“There have been attacks on the general’s men since your brother vanished. If you’re correct and the general sent Connor to London to die, someone besides you knows it. Someone who wants him dead because of it.”

“And who do you think is behind these attacks?” Claire angled her head at Anne’s soft touch to her hand.

Graham caught the subtle communication between them. Instantly, his eyes swept to the bonnet tucked in Claire’s belt. Could it have been her? She had meant to kill Monck when she reached Edinburgh. Would she be so foolish as to attack a regiment of the governor’s men?

“There is only one I can think of,” Robert said.

“Aye,” Graham agreed quickly. If it had been Claire, he would protect her at all cost. “Connor’s dear friend.”

“James?” Anne asked, stunned, and then shook her head. But it was Claire, Graham noted with a sting of pure jealousy, who immediately shot to his defense.

“James is not behind any attacks on Monck’s men.”

“How d’ye know?” Angus asked.

“I simply do. You will all just have to trust me on that. Lambert’s men are here in Scotland. You both saw them that morn.” She turned to Robert. “Did you tell Monck they were here?”

“Aye,” he admitted quietly. “And he did not look pleased.”

“There, then, you see?” Claire insisted. “It was Lambert’s men who attacked.”

“Aye, Lambert’s men,” Anne added hastily, casting her sister a nervous glance.

“I do not know what to believe anymore,” Robert told them with weariness deepening his voice. “Mayhap all will be made clear when I meet Buchanan. You mentioned Ravenglade. Where is it?”

Claire’s entire demeanor changed, and Graham couldn’t help but frown at the hope that made her eyes spark like sapphires. Did she love the bastard? Somehow, that particular thought was more distressing to him than her wedding his best friend. She didn’t love Robert and she probably never would. They were too different. But if her heart belonged to Buchanan . . .

“If I tell you, will you give me your word, and the word of all your company, that you will tell no one else?” She had no choice. This was the only way to get Anne to James.

When Robert made his vow, she told him and said a silent prayer that her brother would forgive her.

Claire rode in silence beside Anne as they neared Stirling. Her backside ached and she vowed if she didn’t eat something other than berries, roots, and rock-hard bread soon, she was going to take a bite out of someone’s arm. She was used to being in the saddle for days at a time, but it had been weeks since she’d felt a bed beneath her, or even a blasted chair! With each league they traveled, her mood grew blacker. Robert wasn’t helping matters by taking a sudden and intense interest in her and Anne’s well-being. He rode at their shoulder by day and at their heels by night. Claire was sure he didn’t mean to rankle her nerves by asking her endless questions about everything from her childhood, to what colors she liked best. She was relieved when Anne, clearly more interested in chatting than she was, began answering for her. Soon the two were laughing and left her alone.

Angus and Brodie MacGregor’s constant bickering did not disturb her as much as the fists they pummeled each other with at every chance offered them. She appreciated fighting men, but these two were hellions to be reckoned with! As the hours wore on and their faces grew more swollen and purple, she began to worry about how James’s men would fare against them.

Her plans to seek refuge at Ravenglade hadn’t changed. Indeed, she was more determined than ever to be away from the true cause of her petulance; the man currently riding in front of her.

Since the day they’d left Edinburgh, Graham had barely spoken a word to her, and when he did, it was more of a grumble. Gone were his irritatingly sensual smiles. Gone, in fact, were all traces of humor toward anyone. When she caught his eye, he looked away, though many times during the day she felt his eyes on her. He did not seek her out when they rested their horses or camped for the night. Why had he changed, and why was it driving her mad?

When they finally stopped at an inn, she thought she might have a chance to speak to him, though she hated herself for wanting to.

“What think you of him?”

Claire blinked her gaze away from Graham dismounting and glanced at her sister. “I’d like to take my sword to him.”

“Not Graham.” Anne tugged her wrist when Claire’s gaze found him again. “But I would know why he fires your temper without having to speak a word.”

“Who then?” Claire asked before her sister delved any deeper.

Anne motioned with her dimpled chin toward Robert leaning over his saddle to retrieve something on the other side. “Lord Campbell.” Her gaze, lingering on his snug-fitting trews stretching across his thighs and backside, darkened from misty gray to stormy blue. She began to smile, but burped instead.

“Anne,” Claire snapped at her, breaking the dreamy trance the view had on her sister. “He’s a Roundhead.”

When Anne met her gaze, Claire scrutinized her a bit more carefully. “Are you drunk, sister? You look drunk!”

“I shared a taste of dear Angus’s brew.” Anne shrugged, casting off her sister’s worried look. Her wistful gaze wandered back to the Earl of Argyll offering the stable boy a smile as he handed over his reins. “Look at him, Claire. He is not our enemy.” Her avowal was tempered with a somber urgency that piqued Claire’s interest. “He is kind, and gently mannered. Thoughtful and intelligent. And do you not find him terribly handsome? Why, look at his form, so fine and well toned. And his eyes—have you ever seen a more radiant combination of gold and brown, ringed by such long black lashes?” Anne blinked her own luminously wide eyes at her. “Well, have you?”

“Satan’s balls, you fancy him,” Claire breathed, not really so opposed as she thought she would be. After all, Robert was extremely likable—for a Roundhead.

Her sister sat back in her saddle, aghast. “Nae! I would never think to take him . . .” She snapped her mouth shut and lowered her gaze. “I simply want you to be happy,” she said more quietly.

“I am happy,” Claire assured her while she dismounted.

“You are not! And it is Graham Grant’s fault. You should not have kissed him, Claire.” She darted a sympathetic glance in Lord Campbell’s direction, then back to her sister. “I see the way you look at him. Are you angry that he has not kissed you again?”