Highland Surrender (28 page)

John listened to them banter and sipped from his cup. The ale was sour in his mouth. He thought to get up and find himself some wine. Good wine, not the swill they’d served to the likes of these puffer fishes. They’d go on for hours, debating every contingency, plotting and recoiling, and going through it all again. And all their chatter would be for naught because Simon always had his way. But this time, John had plans of his own.

A movement caught John’s eyes, and he hid his smile behind his cup. ’Twas his Gen, peeking down at him from an archway of an upper corridor. She gave a tiny wave, and he tipped his head discreetly. He’d told her to stay far away from this mass of men, and so she had. She’d spent all morning lounging in his bed instead, letting their child grow big and strong inside her belly. How he wished he could’ve spent the hours there beside her. But he must be here to steer these sheep without Simon realizing.

Leaving her side was always a sacrifice. He had not imagined a woman such as she might exist. She made him laugh and burn. She raised him up and gave him courage. For her, he would do anything, which made Simon’s next words that much more difficult to hear.

“Once we have ensured allegiance to our cause from the other Highland chiefs, my brother, John, will go to London. He will take a letter, drafted and signed by each of us, swearing our
support to Archibald Douglas as regent of Scotland if he will join us in our plan to remove James from the throne.”

“’Tis bold-faced treason to sign such a letter!” Sutherland slammed his fist upon the table. “I’ll not sign such a thing.”

Simon smiled, an ugly thing that twisted his dark face. “We all sign so that none of us can betray the other. And ’tis only treason if we’re caught, but my brother is a clever man. Aren’t you, John?”

All eyes to turned to him. He held his face steady. “More clever than any of you could imagine. I’ll deliver that letter with none the wiser.”

“There, you see?” Simon brushed his hands together as if the accomplishment were his and victory all but assured. “That is why we married our sister off to the Campbell pup, you dullards, so that my brother might have easy access through the whole of Scotland and straight on to London. He can plead loyalty to either side, depending where he is and who is doing the asking. We’ll sew the letter into the lining of his doublet so, until he takes it out, no one will even know it’s there.”

“Until he’s caught and someone puts a blade to his throat. He’ll spill out our names rather than his own blood,” Ross grumbled.

Simon leaned over and grabbed the little runt by the throat. He squeezed, just enough so John could see Ross’s fleshy cheeks go red. “My brother will not offer any of us up, except for maybe you, if you say the likes of that again.”

Simon pushed him back against the chair, and Ross sputtered and coughed.

“I’ll not be caught,” John said, his voice loud and strong. He stood up. “To all the world, we have the might of the Campbell clan protecting us. Their arrogance makes them believe we are glad for it, that we cower at their superiority. They have no idea
we use them like a cloak to hide our true purpose. Nor will the king until his foot lands upon our shores and his feeble army meets our swords. Even without the help of Douglas, we would succeed, for we have surprise on our side, and the king’s forces will be weakened after weeks upon the water. But with Douglas’s aid, there is nothing that can stop us.”

The men thumped their hands against the table and harrumphed their agreement, spurred on by John’s careful enthusiasm. They were like sheep bleating for their supper, for his words had reached the target. He hit upon their own conceit, their certainty that they were the most deserving.

Simon smiled, raising his tankard to salute him.

John felt the faintest tapping of remorse knocking on his soul. He was Judas in Gethsemane, betraying one he loved. But he’d do this wicked thing for the most righteous of reasons and pray that history and all who knew him as a son of Hugh Sinclair would understand. And so that Fiona had not been sacrificed in vain.

CHAPTER 29

“L
ET ME SEE
if I quite understand you, brother.” Robert Campbell’s dimples deepened in his cheeks. “You did that damage to your face...with a chair?”

Myles flexed his arm and raised a wooden sword toward his brother’s chest. He and several of his men had joined Robert in the bailey to train. A good long bout of thrusting jabs at his brother was just what Myles needed to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

“I told you, the room was dark,” he said.

Robert leaned forward, examining the bruise with greater scrutiny. “Well, ’tis impressive, to be sure. Next time I’m off to battle, I shall leave my sword at home and take a chair instead. Although, without your bride to wield it, I’m not sure I could do such harm.”

“She didn’t wield it. ’Twas merely left in my path.”

His brother grinned. “On purpose?”

“No.” He swung his sword and clipped Robert in the shoulder. The day was bright and the air smelled fresh with blossoms, but he’d passed a restless night and his head ached from lack of sleep and too much unquenched desire. He’d stuck his foot in it with that thoughtless comment about the necklace.
But the lass had overreacted. Tonight, he’d try again. He would kiss her and cajole her and be as honest as a bishop about his intentions. With luck and patience, his self-imposed celibacy would end.

His brother returned a blow with his own wooden sword, and so they went, thrust and dodge, jab and block. The yard was alive with activity, with the men training and carts coming in laden with stores for the castle. The sound of women’s laughter floated from the laundry as a few came out with baskets full of wet garments to hang on the line.

“Tavish told me of Fiona’s antics during your travels. She sounds a handful.” His brother’s voice was relaxed as he easily deflected each stab.

“She can be. Or tame as a kitten,” Myles lied.

“Things between you seem harmonious.”

Robert swung wide, but Myles dipped low to miss the hit.

“Harmonious enough.”

“Your words are as evasive as your footwork, brother. Answer me straight, how does it feel to be a husband?”

It felt like being stuffed into a pickling cask and left for days on end
. “Fine.”

Robert’s laughter caught the attention of the other training men, but Myles cast a glare their way, and quickly, they turned back to their own sparring.

“Fine?” Robert said. “Hardly glowing words from a man during his honeymoon.”

Myles lunged to strike him in the shank, but Robert sidestepped.

“We are adjusting. You know the circumstances, Robert,” Myles said. “She’s a Sinclair, for God’s sake.” He did not intend to admit so much, but Robert was putting him through his paces and the words had escaped before he considered them.

“A Sinclair, you say. Are they as wicked in bed as on the battlefield?”

This time his brother went too far. Myles swung his training sword with all his might and struck a fierce blow to Robert’s thigh. The contact was loud as a thunderclap and brought his brother to his knees.

“Jesus!” Robert cursed, clutching his leg.

It was a dirty blow, and yet Myles felt little remorse. “’Tis my wife you’re speaking of, little brother. You’d best watch your tongue.”

“And your sword too, it seems, you miserable prick.” Robert glowered at him from the ground.

After another second, Myles reached out his hand.

“Is there a knife up your sleeve?” his brother asked, his humor returning.

“Oh, stop complaining. I didn’t hit you that hard. And you deserved it. When you’re married, you’ll understand.”

Robert shook his head but accepted Myles’s hand. “Marriage has made you testy.”

Myles nearly nodded, for his brother was closer to the target than he knew. Still, he’d had enough of this conversation. “Do you want to stand here peeping like chicks, or are we here to train?” He brandished his sword once more.

“Now that you’ve crippled me, you mean?” Robert rubbed his thigh.

“Ah, I’d forgotten your spindly legs were fragile as reeds. I’ll go easier on you.” Myles smiled and took his stance, planting his feet wide apart.

Robert did the same, smiling in return. “No, I’ll have your best and show you how inferior that is to my remarkable skills.”

They fought fairly but with all their might until both were drenched with perspiration. Myles pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it into the dirt.

“Ready to quit?” Robert teased.

“Not until you’re begging for mercy.”

And so they set to battling once more, back and forth, until a movement caught Myles’s eye and brought him to a halt. ’Twas Fiona crossing the bailey with Alyssa on one arm and a basketful of flowers on the other. Such a lovely, ordinary thing, and yet it set his heart in a spin.

His wife looked over and smiled, her expression genuine and warm as sunshine. She gave a tiny wave, jostling the basket, and a few blossoms fell to the ground. When she bent to pick them up, the view of her backside punched the breath from him like no strike from Robert ever could.

Or so he thought, ’til Robert plowed the handle of a training sword straight into his gut.

Fiona had watched them train while she and Alyssa cut flowers in the garden. How ferociously they wielded their swords, neither giving ground to the other. She’d seen men train before, of course, but this was like a dance, for Myles and Robert moved in unison, so alike and yet so different. And when Myles pulled off his shirt, she stood gaping until Alyssa’s giggle cut through her thoughts.

“Best close your mouth, Fiona, or a bee will fly in.”

“That isn’t very nice,” she said, feeling heat that had nothing to do with the sun overhead.

Alyssa was nonplussed. “’Tis true though. You look at him as though he’s a plate of marzipan.”

Marzipan, indeed. Since reading the love-drenched letters from her mother, Fiona’s attitude had changed. She’d fought to resist Myles’s tenderness and his advances, but now, knowing her mother had wanted them together, there was less reason
to deny him. And with the feud between their clans based on a faulty accusation, perhaps there was no reason to resist him at all. Perhaps her brothers had known something she didn’t. The very fact they’d given her over to the Campbells was evidence they sought this truce. It seemed she’d gone about this all wrong, for now she understood. She was always meant to be his wife, from the day she was born. The thought swirled in the base of her stomach, leaving her light-headed. Or perhaps it was just the sun after all.

“Let’s go inside. I suddenly find myself quite thirsty,” Fiona said.

She and Alyssa crossed the bailey, coming closer to the men, and Fiona could not resist giving her husband a tiny wave. But flowers fell from her basket, and so she bent to scoop them up.

She did not see the blow but heard the grunt and thud as Myles hit the dirt. Unbidden, she rushed to his side, hauling Alyssa in her wake.

“What happened?” she asked Robert as she knelt down by Myles’s inert form. He was on his side, but she rolled him easily onto his back and cradled his head in her lap. His eyes were pinched shut.

Robert shrugged and leaned upon the hilt of his sword. “I bested him.”

“You’ve knocked him unconscious.”

He prodded Myles with the tip of his boot. “He did that to himself when he tripped over his own shirt. ’Twas his rock-hard melon hitting the ground that did him in. And might I add how clumsy he’s become? First the chair, now this. Maybe it’s marriage that has tipped him off-kilter.”

“I saw you ram him in the belly,” Alyssa scolded.

Robert shrugged again and looked up at the clouds.

The other men had gathered round, some murmuring, others posturing to get a look at their chief’s son taken down by a mere training sword. Fiona looked down at her husband, noticing his shirtless, sweat-soaked torso once more. She’d blush later, when she thought of that again. For now, she thought only of bringing him back to his senses. She brushed the damp hair back from his forehead and patted him gently on the cheek.

“Myles, can you hear me?”

His mouth twitched, and she felt a tremor in his shoulders.

“Myles?” she asked again.

The tremor grew stronger, and the twitching of his lips increased. What was the matter with him? Then he opened his bruised eye to peer up at her. His smile broke free, along with his laughter, and he opened the other eye.

“Oh! You’re not unconscious.” Irritation soon gave way to relief. It washed over her like spring rain, and her own smile could not be contained. “You’re not hurt at all.” She patted his cheek again, perhaps a bit harder than necessary.

“Ach, woman. I will be if you don’t stop hitting me.” He raised his arms up to grasp her wrists and pull her closer. And she let him.

“I thought you were truly wounded.” She could not hide the concern in her voice, and his eyes caught hers, the pull stronger than his hands.

“I am wounded each time we part. But kiss me, and I’ll be well again.” He teased, yet she could see the longing in his expression. He’d forgiven her for her part of their discord last night. She could see it in his face.
I’ll make no apologies for wanting you.
Her heart fluttered as she remembered his words, and other bits quivered as well. A kiss. Such a tiny thing, such a minor request, and yet the two of them knew how much it meant. Fiona leaned in
closer. She could kiss him now, and every day after, if she wanted to. He was her husband after all.