Highland Heart

no one outside their own blood. Then the trick would be to force them

  to sit still long enough to hear what he had to say. With so many of

  them, he was apt to find himself at the p6int of a sword before his

  first words could be spoken.

  Jamie touched a hand to the stiffness of his shoulder, the lingering

  effects of an old battle wound. All those hours in the saddle, and now

  the rain that chilled him clear to the bone, were taking their toll.

  He yearned for a warm fire and a soft bed. With a trace of impatience

  he shook his head to clear his mind of such annoying thoughts. He

  could not afford to allow himself any distractions.

  These Gordons were fighters like himself. They would not willingly

  listen to talk of peace among the Highland clans. Nor would they

  respect a man who came, that in hand, to ask their help. It would take

  bold measures to get their attention. And even bolder measures to

  enlist their aid. He had not yet decided just what those bold measures

  would be.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a sudden movement and forced

  himself to remain motionless. As the rider passed, Jamie noted the

  stubble of dark beard in a brooding, handsome face. The lad's that was

  worn at a rakish angle. His dark eyes gleamed with the sleek, smug

  look of a cat that had just stolen his master's cream. This would be

  Donald Gordon, the second son, a rebel, and by all accounts a man who

  loved the wenches.

  Jamie gave a satisfied nod. At last all the sons were accounted for.

  Now he would wait and watch for an opportunity to catch them

  unawares.

  "So, laddie, you've finally come home." Murray Gordon, touching a hand

  to his newly cultivated beard, gave his brother a lingering look.

  "We were just about to break our fast. You'd best have an explanation

  ready. Father was planning to have Robbie and Neal comb the village

  until they found you, even if it meant searching every maiden's bed."

  Donald Gordon gave his elder brother a wink.

  "They'd have had to look no farther than the widow Lennox's cottage."

  "The widow Lennox?" Murray's mouth dropped before he added, "Have you

  cut such a swath through the eligible wenches that you are now reduced

  to the charms of that plump baggage?"

  Donald threw back his head and roared.

  "Not the widow, you dolt. Her fetching daughter."

  Murray shot him a withering look.

  "Why, she's no more than a child."

  "A child?" Donald tossed his cloak on a peg and shook the rain from

  his hair. Turning to his brother he said with a grin, "While you were

  looking the other way, that child grew into a very charming lass." He

  dropped his arm around Murray's shoulder as they strode toward the

  refectory.

  "And believe me, she was most eager that I sample all her charms."

  Both men threw back their heads and roared. The laughter died on their

  lips when they caught sight of the stern countenance of their father.

  Douglas Gordon, seated at the head of the table speared them with a

  look of righteous anger.

  "How kind of you to spare your family a few moments of your precious

  time, Donald. It seems you can no longer sleep in your own bed."

  "There are so many more--interesting beds in the village," Donald said

  as he seated himself.

  Douglas slammed his fist on the table sending the dishes clattering.

  Everyone in the room fell silent.

  "Have I raised a son, or a rutting goat?"

  "By all accounts, Father, I am fiaerely following in your glorious

  footsteps."

  Someone snickered.

  Douglas Gordon's eyes narrowed. It was clear the lad had touched a

  nerve. He spoke in a tone of regret.

  "Aye. I fear I was guilty of wenching in my youth."

  He fell silent as his only daughter circled the table to fill his

  goblet. His gaze softened. How like his dear wife Lindsey had

  become.

  She had inherited her mother's thick, auburn hair, framing the face of

  an angel. Her slight, slender stature seemed even more pronounced

  because of a limp, which was only noticeable when Lindsey was agitated

  or weary. It was the result of a childhood injury that had nearly

  devastated her loving parents.

  Her mother had died when Lindsey was but a child, and Douglas had done

  what any father would do; he had simply taken the girl with him and

  treated her the same way he treated his sons. The lass, surrounded by

  a warrior father and four brothers, had abandoned all attempts at

  feminine pursuits.

  Despite her physical frailty, the lass possessed an indomitable spirit

  and a bright, logical mind. She had mastered the use of small weapons

  as easily as her brothers. The broadsword and longbow, however,

  required more strength than she possessed.

  Douglas knew that if she had been born a male, she would have been his

  first choice to inherit the leadership of this fierce clan.

  Realizing his family had grown uncomfortably silent, Douglas struggled

  to pull himself back from his somber thoughts.

  "My wenching ended the moment I met Diedre. I want you to know that

  from then on, there was never another lass who could turn my head,"

  Heating the pain in his tone, Lindsey Gordon brushed a kiss over her

  father's shaggy eyebrow.

  "Aye. I remember the love shining between the two of you. We all

  share your pain." Her warning gaze swept her brothers around the,

  table.

  "Do we not?"

  '"Twas a love like no other," Murray said in quick agreement.

  Lindsey signaled to a servant, who filled the other goblets.

  "When I meet the woman of my dreams, my wenching days will be over as

  well," Donald said defiantly.

  His words were greeted with hoots of laughter from his sister and

  brothers.

  "The woman of your dreams." Neal, the youngest, turned to the brother

  closest in age to him, whose sun kissed hair and fair features caused

  many a village lass to turn and stare.

  "Tell me, Robbie. Has Donald been reading your poetry?"

  '"Twould seem so. Tell us about this dream vision," Robbie said,

  winking at his sister as she took the seat beside him.

  "It wouldn't do to fill your head. You'd best keep your thoughts on

  those pretty words you write, Rob. And leave the wenches to me."

  Lindsey joined in the laughter.

  "Describe this woman to me, Donald.

  Mayhap I will find her for you among the village wenches. "

  "I need no help from my sister to find my future wife." Donald lifted

  his goblet, ignoring the jeers of laughter from the others.

  "Will she have big----eyes, like the widow Lennox?" Even Donald found

  himself laughing at that. But one look at his father's face wiped the

  smile from his lips. Usually the old man was the first to join in the

  laughter and teasing. But this day he was in a somber mood.

  "What is it, Father? What troubles you this morrow?"

  "We speak of foolishness while there are rumors of turmoil at

  Holyrood."

  "Turmoil." At the mention of Holyrood, the queen's residence in

  Edinburg
h, Murray's head came up sharply. "what have you heard?"

  "Rumors. Gossip. No one seems to know anything. But 'tis whispered

  that the queen and her husband are far from happy."

  "Is there not soon fo be a child?" Lindsey asked.

  "Aye?"

  "Then what can be wrong? They are so newly wed."

  "There are those who say the queen's foolish young husband, Lord

  Darnley, would make our Donald look like a mere jester among the women

  at court." He glanced around the table at his children.

  "If such whispers have reached us here in the Highlands, do you not

  think Queen Mary herself has heard the rumors? And is surely

  disheartened by them?"

  Neal, the youngest, broke the silence.

  "Mary is queen. Can she not command Darnley to love only her?"

  Everyone burst into peals of laughter. Lindsey touched a hand to his

  cheek, but he pulled away sharply, embarrassed to be petted like a

  child. He was, after all, ten and six years, and taller than two of

  his brothers. Only Donald was taller, taller even than their father.

  "Why does that amuse all of you?"

  "Because," Lindsey said patiently, "even the queen cannot command

  someone to love her. Love cannot be ordered about. Love just happens,

  without reason."

  "And how would you know about such things?" Murray asked. As the

  eldest, he felt a keen sense of responsibility toward his sister. She

  was, after all, still a maiden.

  "Mayhap she has been reading your poetry, Robbie," Neal called out with

  a laugh.

  "What care I about love?" Lindsey snatched up her gob let, suddenly

  stung by their teasing. '"Twould only mean having another man

  underfoot."

  "That would not be the worst thing to happen to you," Donald said with

  a sly laugh.

  "It is time you gave some thought to taking a husband and filling this

  old house with children."

  "I thought I would save that privilege for you, Donald. Since there

  are so many willing maidens hoping to catch your eye." "If the truth

  be told, there are far too many to make a choice. You, on the other

  hand, have had so little experience with the lads, any sturdy bumpkin

  should do nicely. Perhaps you would like us to pick him out for

  you."

  "I shall do my own choosing, thank you." Lindsey pushed away from the

  table.

  "If you will excuse me, Fa- tiler, I will see to the servants preparing

  our meal."

  "Aye, lass." Douglas watched as she flounced from the room, then

  commanded softly, "Mind your tongues around Lindsey. She should not be

  forced to listen to your crude remarks."

  "She is usually the one who makes them," Neal pro tested. He

  remembered the first time he had heard his sister swear. She would

  have put a soldier to shame.

  Douglas chose to overlook his son's comment. Despite his daughter's

  quick temper, she was the light of his life. Though she went about her

  chores without complaint, Douglas sensed her loneliness at times.

  Despite the fact that theirs was a lively, raucous family, he knew that

  his daughter had been denied the company of other women. Her isolation

  had given her a simple innocence that, to him, was refreshing.

  But to those beyond these secluded hills she would no doubt appear too

  artless.

  He emptied his goblet and glanced at the sons seated to his right and

  left. Their talk soon turned, as always, to the state of their country

  and their beloved young queen.

  Lindsey gathered the last of the eggs into her apron and headed for.

  the house. Usually such mundane chores were given over to a servant,

  but she had a need to escape the confines of the four walls, despite

  the weather. A bitter rain was nothing compared with the stbrm that

  raged within between her brothers and her father.

  Theirs was a prickly, combative family, and though she loved them

  dearly, there were times when she would have gratefully strangled her

  overbearing menfolk. At such times she fled to the solitude" of the

  forest. Today, because of the weather, she would content herself with

  a brief foray into the rain-soaked acreage that ringed their

  fortress.

  All the talk between her father and brothers, if shouts and resounding

  oaths could be called talk, centered b. round the rumors of turmoil at

  Holyrood, the queen's official residence in Edinburgh. Turmoil, she

  thought. The queen should live with Douglas Gordon and his four sons.

  If they weren't brooding over Donald and his wenches, they were arguing

  over Murray's long-standing feud with the Robertsons, or Robbie's

  rambling, poetic missives to an unnamed maiden, or the never-ending

  tensions that simmered between Scotland and England.

  One day soon, Lindsey knew, the warlike Highlanders could be called

  upon to defend their country against the aggressions of England. The

  thought of it did not frighten her. All her life she had Watched her

  father and brothers go off to do battle. She had seen her poor

  mother's heart broken by the thought of losing her adored husband and

  sons to the sword. Lindsey's lips tightened. Instead it was her dear

  mother who had died young. Far too young. And left a family washed in

  grief.

  Lindsey could still recall those early years, when she and Neal were

  left behind while her father and older brothers went off to do

  battle.

  She had cried out at the injustice of it. There was still a lingering

  trace of guilt that, because of her mother's untimely death, she had

  been granted her wish. From that day on her father had seen to it that

  all his children, including his daughter, accompanied him every

  where.

  Those forays into battle had convinced Lindsey that she would never be

  content to stay at home while her men went off on their adventures.

  Perhaps Lindsey was distracted by her thoughts. Or perhaps she had

  taken on too many chores this day. For what ever reason, she let down

  her guard for a moment. In the softly falling rain she heard the

  crackle of a branch just moments before an arm came round her waist and

  a big hand closed over her mouth. The hem of her apron slipped from

  nerveless fingers. Eggs tumbled to the ground, their contents mingling

  with the rain to run in sticky yellow rivers at her feet.

  Her scream was abruptly choked off.

  Her heart hammered in her temples as a rough voice warned, "Not a word,

  lass, or I shall have to break your pretty neck." She felt the heat of

  her attacker's breath as he said, "Do as I say and you will not be

  harmed. Do you understand?"

  She swallowed the terror that clogged her throat and nodded

  "I wish only to speak to your master. I mean him no harm. You will

  lead me through his keep by way of the scullery."

  Lindsey's mind raced. The lout thought she was a servant. If he were

  to learn the truth, she would be in far greater danger. She must keep

  up the charade until she thought of a way to warn her family of this

  invader.

  Feigning weakness, she slumped against him. With a muttered oat
h Jamie

  lowered her to the wet grass. He had not meant to harm this female,

  but ofttimes he did not know his own strength. As he knelt beside her

  his breath caught in his throat. God in heaven. Close up, she was far

  lovelier than he had expected. Thick tangles of russet hair fell to

  her waist. Damp little tendrils kissed her cheeks in a most becoming

  fashion. Her oval face was accentuated by high cheekbones and a tiny,

  upturned nose, and her lips were full and ripe. As her lids fluttered

  he found himself staring into eyes that rivaled the queen's emeralds.

  He cursed this damnably hysterical female for her beauty and her

  weakness. He was unprepared for either. He had expected to bully the

  servant into leading him to her master. Now his gallantry would not

  permit it. He would have to carry her. A not altogether unpleasant

  task.

  Sweeping her into his arms, he lifted her as easily as if she were a

  hairn. With quick strides he began to pick his way through the wet

  grass toward the scullery.

  As the giant carded her, Lindsey plotted her next move. Those few

  moments had bought her time to study this stranger. From the weapons

  he carried, he was no ordinary traveler. The hilt of the sword at his

  waist glinted with gold and precious jewels, proving him to be a man of

  some wealth and measure. Unless, she thought with a tremor of new

  fear, he had stolen the sword from an unfortunate nobleman She pushed

  aside that thought and concentrated on the matter at hand. The sword's

  blade was honed to a razor edge. A fighter's sword, not a gentleman's

  weapon. She had counted three dirks, one at his waistband and one at

  each boot.

  She could not allow this villain to catch her father and brothers

  unaware. Somehow she must warn them of his presence.

  As he cradled her to his chest, Jamie glanced down at the sweep of

  thick lashes that shielded her eyes from his view. He seized the

  moment to study her flawless complexion and felt the sudden, unwelcome

  stirring in his loins. Had he encountered this female at some other

  place and time, he would have savored her wild, primitive beauty. But

  at this moment he wanted nothing more than to present his offer to the

  Gordon clan and be on his way to Edinburgh to be with his queen.

  Still, he could not ignore the fragrance of evergreen and wildflowers

  that drifted gently from her hair and clothes, enveloping him in the

  sweetest perfume. She was a most fetching distraction.

  At the door to the scullery Jamie paused. Hearing no sound from

  within, he kicked open the door and strode inside.

  The woman in his arms moaned. Alarmed, he set her down on a rug by the

  hearth and knelt beside her.

  "Are you hurt, lass? Is something wrong?"

  "Water," she rasped, keeping her eyes firmly closed.

  "Please, sir, I have need of water quickly."

  Her voice was soft, almost husky. It was unlike any fe male voice he

  had ever heard, whispering over his senses in a way that disturbed him

  greatly. Still, he reminded him self, he had not come here to be

  charmed by a voice. There was desperate work to be done.

  As he knelt over her she watched from beneath half- closed lids and

  tried again.

  "Please. Water."

  "Aye." Reluctantly Jamie crossed the room and filled a dipper from a

  bucket. From the corner of his eye he saw the flash of color and

  turned in time to see the girl racing toward the doorway leading to the

  refectory.

  "By the gods!" In swift strides he caught up with her. She gave out a

  loud scream as a big hand closed over her shoulder, stopping her in