Chapter 27

"Iknew I would find you here," he said, his voice low and somber.

She turned, slowly, to see him standing in the doorway leading to the archway. "It felt right to come to the place where it all began."

He smiled. "I think it began in the glen," he said, "with the sight of you running so fast your feet seemed to fly over the grass. And the cloud of your hair behind you."

"That soon?"

"From the beginning," he said, striding forward until he stood close to her. He reached out his hand and wrapped his finger around a lock of her hair. "It looks as bright as fire in the sun. Like that faraway time."

He dropped his hand, his smile evaporating. "General Wescott will be arriving soon. Before he gets here, I want you to leave."

She frowned, confused.

"Why should his arrival concern me?"

"Because it's possible that I will be arrested," he said, "and either you will be turned over to Sedgewick's care or imprisoned also."

"Do they know about the Raven?" she asked, shocked.

He shrugged, a gesture meant to be nonchalant, she was sure. But it failed at convincing her that he was calm about the possibility of being arrested. His jaw was too squared; a muscle in it twitched with tension. His hands, resting at his sides, were clenched into fists. "If not now, I'm sure they'll find out soon enough."

"If he doesn't know, then what is the danger?" she asked, confused.

"I've performed more than one act of insurrection, Leitis," he said, his lips curving in a crooked smile that was absolutely charming. "There is Inverness, for one. And Sedgewick has never forgiven me for saving the village."

"Why did you?" she asked, discounting the answer he'd first given her. Something to the effect of it being easier to save the village than to rebuild it.

"Because the people of Gilmuir lived there," he said, reaching out and tucking an errant tendril of her hair behind her ear before letting his hand drop. "Because it was your home."

"If it had been any other place, would you have done the same?"

"I like to think I would," he said. "But I might not have," he added, the words stark in their honesty. "I can't say what I might have done, Leitis. I can only be accountable for those actions I've committed."

He glanced up at the ceiling, still mostly intact, even after the English bombardment.

"I served my country as well as I could," he said. "The Scots would think me a traitor for it, while the English will consider my ruse as Raven equally treasonous."

She wasn't certain what was real or imaginary at this moment. The Butcher of Inverness was no longer a man to be feared for his cruelty. The colonel was a rebel whose self-imposed mission was to protect the Scots. Ian was Alec, and they were both the man she loved.

"Whatever my faults, however they're measured, regardless of who judges me, I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you, Leitis."

"The only way you've hurt me is by being English," she said honestly.

His glance was gently chiding. "I cannot change that for you, Leitis. Did you never think that it would have been easier for me to love a woman who didn't see me as her enemy? One who wasn't stubborn and heedless?" he added.

"Who watched her tongue?" she asked, moving away from him. She faced the loch, but heard him come to stand behind her. "Who didn't take you to task?"

"Or didn't weep when she was touched too much for words," he said softly.

"Or love you in a cave," she said quietly. A proper and virtuous woman would have felt shame in uttering that truth. Wanton as she was, she couldn't help but flush at the memory of her abandon.

He reached out and gently turned her in his arms.

"You see," he said earnestly, "I've no choice in loving you. You've been in my heart since I was a boy and I cannot pry you loose."

She stepped away. "I accept that you're not the Butcher I thought you, but I cannot wrap my mind around the fact that you've taken up arms against my country. Am I to forgive that with such ease?"

"Your countrymen did the same, Leitis," he said. "There are some things that cannot be wiped clean, Leitis, however much we wish it. I spent years hating the Scots because they had killed my mother."

"General Wade's troops were responsible," she said, confused.

"I didn't know that at the time," he answered. "I didn't know any different until you told me."

"Yet it didn't stop you from saving the men in Inverness," she said slowly.

"The men were kept naked, cold, and starving. It was difficult to see them as Scots, and easier to see them as people who needed help. I would truly have been a monster if I had ignored their plight. Besides, Leitis, sometimes you have to stop hating."

She folded her hands in front of her, tipped her head back, and looked steadily at him. Ribbons of sunlight streaming in through the arches bathed his face. He returned her look, unmasked, his face handsome and strong, his eyes direct and unflinching. He stood before her naked in spirit. Revealed as who he was, not as she had thought him to be. Not a monster, nor a rebel, but a man of contradictions and frailties, a man who had earned both her respect and her love.

Her sigh felt tinged with tears. Inside her chest was this great hollow place that echoed the sound of her fast-beating heart. "I tried not to love you," she confessed. "I told myself that it would be safer not to. For a time I even believed it; but then, I seem to be adept at delusions."

Slowly, giving her time to pull away, he bent and kissed her, a soft and hesitant kiss like the one he'd once given her as a boy. She placed her hand on his cheek, her palm abraded by the afternoon growth of his beard.

She pulled her hand away, looked at the X-shaped scar. Slowly, he placed his hand over hers. A meeting of scars, a meeting of minds. And hearts, she admitted.

She shook her head, confused, uncertain, overwhelmed. Love, she discovered in that moment, existed whether or not it was convenient or proper. And love flourished in unexpected places like the harebells she loved, strong and hardy, growing in rocky fissures or deep soil.

"I'm a poor Scot," she admitted, "to concede so quickly to an Englishman. But I do," she said. "I love you, Colonel or Raven, Ian or Alec."

"Perhaps you can console yourself with the thought that you brought me to my knees."

She pulled back and smiled at him. His own smile faded as he looked at her.

"I once thought that if I could stare long enough into your eyes," he confessed, "I could see your soul."

"Can you?" she asked, entranced by his words.

"I see your heart," he softly said. "And your courage. You will need it for what might come."

The sense of dread she began to feel was so overpowering that it made her stomach lurch.

"You must leave now, Leitis," he said softly.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, biting back her fear.

"At this moment? I'm going to return to Fort William," he said.

She didn't fool herself that the general would be compassionate or kind or even understanding. The English would punish Alec for his actions; he had done more than disobey Cumberland's orders. He had dared to feel kindness.

"You might be hanged," she said.

His fingers dusted a path from the lobe of her ear to her chin. The expression on his face was intent, as if he memorized the look of her, this moment, for all the time to come. "I sincerely hope not," he said. "I've plans for my life."

"Don't make me leave you," she said, blinking back tears. "Please."

He shook his head slowly. "Don't you know that they can't hurt me unless they hurt you? I couldn't bear it if something happened to you. I'll come when I can. I promise you that."

"I've heard those promises before," she said, pulling away from him. "‘I'll return, Leitis. I'll be safe enough. There's nothing to worry about. It will be an adventure, Leitis, and you'll be sick with envy to hear of it.' I've heard it all," she said fiercely. "From my father and Fergus and James and Marcus."

"I swear on all that's holy to the MacRaes that I'll come when I can, Leitis."

He bent and kissed her sweetly, and she allowed her eyes to flutter shut, captured between grief and delight in that moment.

Please, keep him safe.She had not prayed in so long that it felt uncomfortable to do so. In those months after Culloden she had felt no great accord with the Almighty. She had, instead, experienced only anger. This prayer was different, unselfish. Keep him safe, not because I love him, but because he deserves to be saved.

Again he kissed her, and for the length of the kiss she forgot about English troops, divided loyalties, and even danger.

Patricia waited patiently in the courtyard, David beside her softly crooning to his cat. The vista was spectacular, pulling from her a reluctant admiration. The deep azure of the sea and the brilliant hue of a storm-free sky were a backdrop for the green rolling hills to either side of Fort William. Even the sharp peaks in the distance, all jutting angles and black and gray shale, could not spoil the scenery. It was not calm in the way an English landscape often was, but it was quiescent at the moment. There was no rain, no bristling wind, and even the waves on the water seemed tranquil.

The warm breeze was a gentle brush against her cheek. Nature's caress, as if it approved of her presence here.

She glanced over at the ruin of Gilmuir. Moira's childhood home. The place where she'd died. She'd expected to feel a host of emotions on viewing this place. Instead, she felt only sadness for the other woman. No envy, no anger.

"My lady?"

The young man Alec had summoned stood there waiting patiently. Castleton, that was his name.

He stood stiffly at attention, then inclined his head. Almost, she thought, as if he couldn't quite decide whether to bow or salute her.

She smiled to ease him.

"The chambers are ready, Your Ladyship," he said, his expression earnest. "If you would accompany me." He extended his arm.

The thundering approach of what looked to be a hundred troops drowned out his next words. A column of men, riding in pairs, galloped over the narrow strip of earth that joined the island to the meadow, their horses' hooves throwing up clods of earth and chunks of grass.

They slowed to a canter between the two structures before filing into the courtyard. Between the sound of the horses and the orders being shouted, the enclosed space was suddenly a scene of pandemonium.

She stepped back from one particularly intrusive horse that appeared determined to eat the top of her hat. She almost batted at him with her reticule before his rider turned him away.

The troops parted soundlessly and an imposing-looking man of rugged features rode through them. His horse was white, his saddle dotted with silver medallions. Was he the leader of this rude group?

He glanced in her direction before looking away. Then, in a thoroughly affronting manner, he slowly glanced at her again. A scrutiny, she thought irately, that took in the tips of her black shoes to the top of her silk hat and spared little in between, including the curve of her bodice. The fact that she was in mourning did not seem to matter to him at all.

She drew herself up and frowned at him, her mouth pursed in a moue of disapproval. The insufferable man simply smiled at her, a most rapacious gesture that made her want to hit him with her reticule as well.

He dismounted with ease, giving orders to the men around him as he did so. One particular man appeared as interested in her presence as the general, but he soon tired of his inspection of her and sought out another soldier.

The general, however, was not finished with his effrontery.

He strode to where she stood, unaffected by her glare. His bow was as slow and as arrogant as his look.

"Madam," he said, "I never expected to see a woman of your beauty in this desolate place."

She blinked at him, surprised. She hadn't been called a beauty since before her marriage to Gerald. But that fact did not soften her toward him. In fact, she should be even more insulted. Her appearance was not a topic of conversation, especially from a stranger.

"Allow me to present General Wescott to you, Countess," Castleton said as if he'd heard her thoughts.

"Countess?" The odious general looked surprised.

"General," Castleton continued, "the Countess of Sherbourne."

"A relation to Alec Landers?" the general asked. "His wife?"

She was determined that this man would not startle her further.

"Of course I am not his wife," she said annoyed. "I am his mother. His stepmother."

"Which accounts for the disparity in age, my lady," he said, bowing once more. "You are still too young to be his stepmother. Did your husband pluck you from the cradle?"

Was there no end to his temerity?

"I am a widow, sir," she said frostily. "A fact that you would soon glean if you directed your attention at the shade of my attire and nothing else."

"A fact to my advantage," he said equally as coolly. But there was a twinkle in his hazel eyes. "I am a widower, my lady."

She simply stared at him for a moment, flummoxed.

"I am a very recent widow, sir," she said finally, frowning at him.

He reached out and took her gloved hand, bowed over it, and in the manner of the French kissed the air above the back of it. "My condolences, my lady," he said smoothly, his voice entirely too intimate. So, too, was the warmth of his hand. Her palm felt singed even through her gloves.

"Will you take refreshments with me?" he asked, that irritating twinkle back in his eyes. "I will endeavor to make you forget my earlier boorishness."

She jerked her hand back. "Certainly not," she said, annoyed.

"Will you partake of the evening meal with me, then?"

"Are there no boundaries to your effrontery, sir?"

He smiled, an expression, she was certain, that had been practiced many times. It was effective, rendering his rugged face almost boyish. For a moment they simply stared at each other, until she remembered her true reason for being here.

She shook her head, looked in the direction Alec had gone. She needed to pose the question she'd come to Scotland to ask before military matters intruded, before he was commanded by this…general to do something else or go somewhere else.

It was vital that David's future was assured.

Her maid sighed heavily behind her, the sound both a hint and an impetus to action.

She turned to the other woman. "Go with the lieutenant, Florie, and rest if you wish." She smiled a dismissal, and looked at the general once more.

An entirely irritating man, she thought.

"Have I offended you again?" he asked, his smile having a tinge of wickedness about it.

She shook her head. It would be best if she didn't respond to his words or speak to him at all.

"If you will excuse me, sir," she said, beckoning to David.

She began to walk toward the ruined castle with David at her side, Ralph meowing with every step.

"Where are we going, Mama?" David asked.

"To find your brother," she said, determined.

"I like him," he said, smiling. "Ralph likes him, too."

She glanced toward the cat's basket. She doubted that the ill-tempered feline liked anyone other than David, but she didn't say that to her son.

She had rehearsed the words countless times on the journey through Scotland, Patricia thought. Why, then, were they so fleeting now? Everything she'd thought to say was gone, flown from her mind as if they were bubbles on a gusty day. That odious general's fault, no doubt.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was still watching her with that enigmatic smile on her face. Her anger was the reason for the sudden feeling of heat on her cheeks. That was all. It had nothing to do with his crude manner or his words.

He thought her beautiful. She halted, the rocky ground biting into her slippers. What did it matter to her if a stranger found her attractive? Or was so crass as to comment upon it? She looked at him again. Another man was addressing him and he nodded from time to time, evidently immersed in thought.

It was absurd for her to feel so disappointed.

Matthew Sedgewick dismounted, handed the reins over to one of the privates assigned to stable duties, and looked around for Armstrong. He found him directing the placement of a wooden box filled with gunpowder next to one of the cannon portals.

"I beg your pardon, sir," Armstrong said, straightening, "but the colonel has me clearing out the ordnance rooms for his mother and brother."

The presence of the colonel's relatives was an irritation. But their being here would not delay the outcome of his investigation, nor render his accusations inappropriate. Armstrong had furnished enough information to cast doubt on Landers's loyalty.

"I've brought General Wescott with me," he said curtly. "Before we begin to question Colonel Landers, are there any changes you wish to make in your journal? Any omissions or additions?"

"Yes," Armstrong said, smiling faintly. "I overheard a conversation between the countess and her son. Evidently, the colonel is familiar with this place. He used to spend his summers here."

Sedgewick frowned, trying to make sense of Armstrong's latest revelation.

"Have you considered, sir, that Colonel Landers might be a Scot?"

The idea was intriguing. A nail in Landers's coffin. Even if Wescott did nothing, Cumberland would be furious.

"Where is he?"

"I believe, sir, that he's at the Scottish castle. He has an affinity for that place."

"Or his hostage," Sedgewick said abruptly, turning and crossing the open space between the fort and the ruins of the castle.

He was going to enjoy telling Landers he was under investigation, he thought, entering the ruins of the castle from the side.

Two people were talking, their voices echoing in the stone chamber. One speaker he recognized instantly. The other was female. The hostage?

"What about the villagers? Is there no way to get them to the ship?"

"None that can escape detection at the moment."

A possibility occurred to Sedgewick, one that was almost exhilarating to contemplate. What if Colonel Landers's sin was greater than simply ignoring the Raven's presence in his territory? What if Landers himself was the traitor?

Realizing what he was hearing, Sedgewick smiled, and pulled out the pistol he'd tucked into his waistcoat.

This strange place was a labyrinth, Patricia thought, and every single brick of it interested David. He entered the archway, stared above him at the partially intact roof.

The sunlight cast delicate shadows on the walls. "Pretty," he said, holding Ralph's basket close.

"Yes, dear," she said patiently, "but we must find Alec."

They entered one room that showed some sign of habitation, but it was empty at the moment. Another larger space was open to the elements. It seemed an oddly sad place, as if it had once known joy and now only felt sorrow. Even David did not want to enter it.

She stepped over fallen stones and walked down a hallway that led nowhere, as a wall had collapsed upon it. Each path she took led to nothing. Finally, they retraced their steps to the archway and began to follow it through the ruins.

"A tender scene, Colonel," Sedgewick said, slipping out of the shadows.

His uniform was coated with dust, his blond hair in disarray, and the look on his face one of fatigue. But that wasn't what held Alec's attention. It was the gun in his hand. The pistol boasted a walnut stock and checkered grip, and was obviously well kept, from the shine of the brass on its six-inch barrel.

"It's a formidable offense to pull a weapon on a superior officer, Sedgewick," Alec said, very conscious of the fact that Leitis was standing beside him. He stepped in front of her.

"Not if the officer is guilty of treason. As I suspect of you. Sir," Sedgewick added, bowing slightly in a mockery of respect.

"Even stronger words," Alec said dryly.

"Do you deny that you're the man known as Raven? Do you deny that you attempted to aid and abet the Scots?"

"Most emphatically," Alec said. There were times when bluster and bravado were helpful attributes. When a battalion was outnumbered, when the odds were enormous, and at this particular moment. "How do you come to that fanciful conclusion, Sedgewick?" he asked cuttingly.

"Armstrong has kept me informed of your movements," the other man said, the pistol steady and pointed at him.

"Then Armstrong is an idiot," Alec said dryly.

"General Wescott doesn't think so," Sedgewick said. "Else he would not have accompanied me here."

"And you felt it necessary to escort me to him at the point of a gun?"

"I wouldn't care, Landers, if you tried to escape and I had to shoot you."

Alec smiled mirthlessly. "Is that your ploy?" he asked, attempting to look unaffected by the other man's threats. "I think it would be best if you returned to Fort William now, Major. I will join you shortly and together we'll hear General Wescott's judgment as to your imaginative findings."

"I think now would be a better time," Sedgewick said. The gun barrel wavered in the air, pointing in the direction of the archway, then back at his chest.

"Are you threatening me, Sedgewick?" Alec asked in a clipped voice.

"I believe I am, sir. Would you like to try to escape?" he asked, smiling. "When you're dead, sir, I'll sample your whore and see if she's worth keeping alive."

"I hope," Alec said, enraged, "that you have proof beyond any doubt, Sedgewick. Because when I'm exonerated, I'm going to make every effort to see that you spend the rest of your life in the gaol. I suggest that you begin to formulate your explanation to General Wescott. I know exactly what I'll say to him."

Alec stepped forward, hoping that Leitis would take advantage of the diversion he was about to create and slip from view.

"The gun is ready to fire, Colonel," he said. "I've taken the precaution of being prepared for your refusal. If you're dead, it won't matter if you're the Raven or not," Sedgewick said, smiling. "The general will be satisfied. I will probably be commended on my courage, and another traitor will be dead."

He raised the pistol and aimed it at Alec's chest.

"Let her go," Alec said, glancing at Leitis, "and I'll come with you. Without a struggle."

"But you see, I don't want you to come with me," Sedgewick said, still smiling. "The more I think about it, the more the idea of your death pleases me."

He sighted the gun carefully.

"Mama? Is he going to hurt my brother?" David asked fearfully.

Both men turned at the sound of the voice, startled. Patricia and David stood in the door of the archway staring at Sedgewick.

Alec took advantage of the moment and lunged for the major, grabbing his legs with both arms and pulling him off balance. The pistol fell with a metallic thud to the stone floor.

Sedgewick kicked at him, rolled, and grabbed the gun. The major rose to his knees, then stood, all the while pointing the barrel at him. It was only then that Alec realized the major was standing directly beneath the fallen arch.

Sedgewick glanced down at his feet, a look of horror on his face as the earth began to crumble beneath him. In a moment oddly slowed in time, Alec watched as Sedgewick flew backward, his arms and legs flailing as a look of stark terror crossed his face. There was nothing but air, no firm ground, no handhold as he continued to fall. The sound of his scream gradually faded into silence.

Alec stood and moved to the neighboring arch, looked down. There was no hope that Sedgewick would have survived the drop to the loch below. He felt arms extend around his waist as Leitis pulled him back from the edge.

He enfolded his arms around her, resting his cheek against her hair. She was trembling or he was, but it didn't seem to matter at the moment.

"He fell, Mama," David said.

"Yes, dearest," Patricia said softly, extending her arms around her frightened son.

"I don't like this place," he said, burying his head against her shoulder.

Patricia met Alec's gaze across the room. "I'm not sure I do, either, dearest."