A Highlander Never Surrenders (36 page)

When they were alone, Fleetwood raised his sickened gaze to his daughter. “Swear to me that you did not give your heart to a man so contemptible that only the death of his closest friend will satisfy him.”

Elizabeth looked toward the door one last time, then lowered her eyes to hide the truth from her father. “I swear.”

Dear God, she was tired. The brisk chill numbing her cheeks wasn’t helping. Claire knew the effects of winter’s seductive fingers. Connor had made her practice doubly hard in the winter months when the air was so cold it singed her lungs and sapped her strength. Succumbing to exhaustion in a fight—or to the lure of sleep on some snow-blanketed hill—would kill her, so he made her learn how to keep awake. But hell, this was different. She did not feel weak or confused, and she was barely shivering, but she felt like hell. She turned slightly on her horse to glance at Graham, wishing for the comfort of his arms.
Highlanders,
she thought, with a well of warmth creeping up from her chest and ending in a smile. He barely felt the effect of the coming winter.

“Ye look a wee bit pale,” he said, slowing his pace. “D’ye want to stop in the next village and sleep in a bed tonight? Mayhap purchase some shifts fer under yer tunic?”

“Nae, I do not want to stop again. Wherever Connor is, I am sure he is colder than we are. He needs us to make haste.”

They rode hard for another hour before slowing their weary mounts. While she chewed a slab of dried meat—thanks astonishingly to Maggie, who had insisted on packing what was left of the beef for their journey—Claire prayed for the hundredth time that her brother was still alive.

“Connor will not approve of your Highland claim on me,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence while they ate.

Graham shrugged and licked his fingers. “Then I’ll wed ye properly. We will send fer Father Lachlan when we return to Skye.”

“Will we live there then?”

“Aye,” he answered without hesitation, then lifted his eyes and cast her a worried look. “Ye do want to live there, d’ye not?”

It was his home; where his kin were. Claire knew he loved living there, and she wanted to be wherever he was. Hell, she had to be daft to agree to spend the rest of her days in such a dreary place. “My brother will be living in our home in Athol, and Anne will go to Inveraray with Robert, so aye, Skye is as good a place for me as any.”

His face lit into a grin she found exhilarating and heart-wrenchingly sexy. “ ’Tis a good place to raise bairns.”

She stopped chewing and looked at him, feeling suddenly misty-eyed. The thought of having his son or daughter thrilled her—and yet here she was on the brink of tears. Och, what was wrong with her? Her emotions were playing havoc with her. “I would love a son like Rob.” When Graham frowned at her, she hastily corrected. “Callum and Kate’s son.”

His easy smile returned. “Will ye not miss the life of a rebel, then?”

“Och, I’ll always be a rebel, Graham.” She cut him an impish smirk and he laughed, and then looked up beseeching the heavens for the strength it was going to take having her for a wife.

“How about you? Will you miss your . . . adventures?”

“Nae, I can barely keep up with ye. But if I feel the need fer a journey off Skye, ye’ll be with me.”

“I . . .” Claire swooned slightly on her horse and then clutched her belly.

“What is it?” Graham rode to her side, concern etching his features.

“It is nothing,” she was quick to assure him. “I think mayhap the beef has gone bad.”

He gave her a worried look and offered to hunt for some live game. When she grew pale and clamped her hand over her mouth, he glanced down at her belly.

“What?” Claire queried curiously when she caught his faint smile.

“It could be the meat, but I think mayhap we will be having a bairn sooner than we expected. I have enough sisters to know what happens to a lass when she’s carrying a babe.”

Claire’s eyes opened wide, as did her mouth when her hand fell away from it. “But how can that be?”

His mouth hooked into a slow, sensual grin, reminding her how.

“I know how.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I meant . . . Och, never mind. Will it get worse?”

“Aye, it will.”

“Satan’s balls.”

Graham leaned in to kiss her. He began to tell her how happy she made him, then pulled back, looking as sick as she felt.

“What is it?” she asked, reaching to cup his face in her palm.

“I was not thinking,” he said, his voice a hollow drum as his horrified gaze poured over her. “Everything has changed. Ye are carrying my bairn. I cannot let ye come with me to London.”

Claire stared at him, trying to decide whether to laugh or scream. “Not
let
me?” she repeated,tight-lipped, her hand falling away.

“I cannot. Ye’ll wait fer me outside the city in the safety of an inn while I free Connor. I’ll not have ye jeopardize the life of our babe, or yer own.”

“We do not even know for certain if I am with child, Graham!” she argued.

Pushing back the cap on his head, he faced her with the unyielding power of a commander in his emerald gaze. “Ye’ll wait fer me.”

With flaring nostrils and a determined set in her jaw, Claire watched him whirl his mount forward—toward England. Like hell she would.

Epilogue

T
he time has come to let the truth be known.Everything you desire will soon be in my hands. Surrender. It is so powerful a word, and none more sweet to the ears of a true warrior. I shall gain the victory, but the glory will be yours. I have kept my heart’s desire silent long enough. But soon, the land shall quake at my coming. And the man who has lost everything shall gain it all back. But know this, that I am a soldier with a need for nothing more. I do this not with the hope of achieving greatness, but with fear that should I submit, nothing shall be secure.

Shall I be stripped bare on the battlefield or be clothed in righteousness and readiness? Shall I let the faithful child die while the wicked man prospers? Nae! I shall ride forth and obliterate the shame that has been brought upon the father. Be patient. Be vigilant. For there is as much honor gained by suffering wants patiently in war, as by fighting valiantly. Let a soldier’s resolution be never so great, and his courage invincible in the day of battle. For men wear not arms because they are afraid of danger, but because they would not fear it. And it is most sure, the valor of a few may surmount the numbers of many. And so I go, Your Majesty, not to bring war,
^*
but to bring your people a taste of the sweetness of peace, and the benefit of a Civil life.

King Charles II finished reading the missive sent to him from General George Monck. With a heart that felt lighter than it had in over five years, he folded the parchment and hid it inside his trunk. Finally, he was going home.

General George Monck’s army restored Parliament in the Spring of 1660, whereupon Charles Fleetwood was deprived of his command and called to answer for his conduct. On March 3, 1660, Major General John Lambert was sent to the Tower, from which he escaped one month later. In May of the same year, England’s Civil War ended and Charles II was restored to the throne.

England and her people were finally at peace—everyone that is, save for James Buchanan, who found himself hunted by a most tenacious warrior whom he had betrayed.

But that is another story.

About the Author

P
AULA
Q
UINN
has been married to her childhood sweetheart for seventeen years. They have three children, a dog, and too many reptiles to count. She lives in New York City and is currently at work on her next novel. Write to her at [email protected]

THE DISH

Where authors give you the inside scoop!

From the desk of Carolyn Jewel

Dear Reader,

What was that line Shakespeare stuck in one of his plays? Oh, yeah.
Hamlet,
act 1, scene 2. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Even if you’re not Horatio, and chances are you’re not, that’s a true statement. When things go bump in the night, maybe it’s not the cat knocking stuff over.

Maybe there really is a monster drooling under your bed.

Right. There are things out there maybe you don’t know about. Say, for example, the mages in MY WICKED ENEMY (on sale now). A mage is a person who can do magic. Real magic. The kind that can get you killed. Or save your life. Depends on your point of view, I guess. Then there are demons and, more specifically, fiends. They’re not people, but they can do magic, too. My advice is watch out for both. Here’s the thing you need to know about fiends, though: most of the time they look like normal people. You could walk down the street and never realize that wicked-hot cutie sitting by the coffee shop window isn’t human and that if he wanted to, he could destroy your life. Could be your boss isn’t human (I’ve had one or two bosses I’m convinced didn’t have a check mark in the human category). For a fiend, learning how to pass for normal is a survival skill. Didn’t used to be that way, but it is now. That’s just a heads-up for you. Here’s another one: they’re good at it because they have to be. They end up enslaved to some effing mage if they’re not careful. And sometimes even if they are.

With the magekind, it’s hard to tell where you stand, mostly because they started out human. They don’t have as much trouble pretending to assimilate. Human but not very, if you see what I’m getting at. It’s enough to make you wonder, isn’t it? I mean, do you even know who you are? Really and truly? Be honest. Maybe you just wake up one day and realize your entire life has been a lie. The man who raised you is a mage who crossed over to evil centuries ago, and now everybody and their brother wants you dead.

Maybe you get headaches. Bad ones. You know, a flash of pain from the supraorbital process down to your maxilla. Hurts like heck. And they’re getting worse. And worse. Then you see stuff that turns your stomach. So you run.

Right into the monster’s arms.

It could happen. It happened to Carson Philips in MY WICKED ENEMY.

Watch yourself out there. That’s all I’m saying.

www.carolynjewel.com

From the desk of Samantha Graves

Dear Reader,

When I wrote my first romantic suspense, SIGHT UNSEEN, I discovered that I loved exotic locales. The research was intense, but that only made these amazing places more amazing.

In my latest book, OUT OF TIME (on sale now), I got to visit Mexico with all of you. I have never been there, but someday I’d love to see it for myself. In lieu of that day, I did the best I could with guidebooks, videos, travelogues, maps, photos, and even an online Speed Spanish class. What did we do before the Internet?

My fascination for Mexico turned into Jillian’s passion, as well. She embraced this culture and its people with an open heart. Her wide-eyed appreciation became a symbol for how she viewed life and people—seeing the beauty in everything.

Simon’s dislike for Mexico has nothing to do with the country itself, but with the betrayal he experienced there—a betrayal that marred him with a cynicism that shaped the rest of his life.

During the story, both characters must face the truth as Jillian begins to see the ugliness and Simon begins to see the beauty. It could have been Mexico or Guatemala or Santa Barbara—all places contain both ugliness and beauty. What you choose as truth is up to you. What you do with that truth defines you.

In the end, Jillian didn’t let the ugliness change the fact that there is beauty, and Simon didn’t let the beauty change the fact that there is ugliness. They simply found their common ground, accepting both as part of life and choosing to see the truth in their love for each other.

I hope you enjoyed both.

All the best,