Chapter 1

January 29, 1587 Sheffield, England

M ermaid!

Kate bolted upright in bed, chest rising and falling as she tried to still the panic tearing through her.

Had she screamed out the word? Dear God, let it not have happened. Yet her throat felt so raw, she knew she had betrayed herself.

She scrambled back against the headboard, wiping the tears from her cheeks as her gaze fixed fearfully on the door.

If she had screamed, they would soon come. She would hear the footsteps, and then the door would open.…

No sound yet. Perhaps she had not cried out, and if she had, maybe she had not awakened them. Perhaps God would be merciful, and she would be allowed to—

Footsteps.

Her eyes shut as terror closed around her. She braced herself, trying to smother the fear. She would not let them see her weakness, she thought fiercely. They would deny it, but she knew they liked to see her afraid. It was a weapon in the battle they waged against her. She was not usually so lacking in strength, but after the dream she always felt so frightened and lost that—

"Ah, my child. The dream again?"

Her lids flicked open, and she saw Sebastian Landfield standing in the doorway, illuminated by the single candle in the pewter holder he carried. His nightshirt and frayed gray robe clung to his thin body, making it appear frail. His rumpled white hair formed a shining halo about his lined face, and his gray eyes glittered with moisture as he looked at her. "I prayed it would not come. How it hurts me to see you suffer."

"I'm not suffering." She couldn't resist the small defiance, though she knew she would pay for it.

He came forward to stand beside her bed and put the candle on the nightstand. "How can you say that when you woke us from deep sleep with your torment?" He reached out and gently touched a lock of hair on her forehead. "And, look, your thrashing about has loosened your hair from your nightcap."

Blast it, she should have remembered to put on the cap. She carefully avoided darting a guilty glance at the despised night bonnet she had tossed impatiently on the bedside table before she went to sleep.

Sebastian's glance shifted to the cap. "It appears suspiciously tidy for having undergone such punishment, doesn't it?" He looked back at her. "But I know you would not have disobeyed me and left your hair unconfined. You have been so good of late."

She quickly changed the subject. "I'm sorry I disturbed you, sir. I would not have—"

"It is no disturbance to be called to my duty," he interrupted. "It is God's will. His fingers traced the path of tears down her cheek. "Though Martha was not overpleased to have her rest broken."

She wished he would not caress her cheek with those long, cold fingers. It seemed he was touching her more of late. She turned her head to avoid it. "I will give her my apologies. Where is she?"

"She will be here soon." He smiled sadly. "And I think you know where I had to send her."

To the top drawer of the cabinet in the scullery downstairs.

Kate shivered as she visualized Sebastian's stocky wife moving down the steps, a grim smile of pleasure on her face.

"Martha thinks you're too old to be having these dreams," Sebastian said softly. "She believes it's only pretense, that you woke us out of spite."

She looked at him in bewilderment. "Why would I be so stupid as to do such a thing?"

"Oh, I do not think you would. Martha is not always clever about people." His hand moved down to caress her throat. "And sixteen is not such a great age. There is still time to chasten and form you. Now why do you suppose you had the dream tonight?"

She didn't answer.

"Silence? Meekness is a virtue, but I don't think this lack of words is caused by meekness. Tell me of the dream. Was it the same?"

He knew it was always the same. She had cursed herself a hundred times for telling him about the mermaid, but she had only been a child when the dream started. She had not realized how powerful a weapon it would prove to him.

"Tell me," he repeated softly. "You know it is for the best. Confess your sin, my child."

She could lie to him and tell him the dream was not about the mermaid. He might believe her.

Anger flared through her. She would not lie. It wasn't fair. He wasn't fair. "You're wrong. It wasn't a sin." Her voice trembled with rage. "It was only a dream. How could a dream be a sin?"

"Ah, here it comes," he murmured. "Those golden eyes are blazing at me. All my efforts these long years, and you've learned so little. You pretend docility, but no matter how I try to tame your bold ways, there comes a time when you turn and rend me."

"Because it's not true! I did not sin." Did he think she didn't know the difference? Sin was what she felt when she wanted to pull his hair out and kick his chicken-thin legs. Sin was what she felt when rage blackened within her at one of Martha's spiteful remarks.

"I've explained all this to you before," he said patiently. "Your soul flies free when you slumber and wallows in corruption. Why do you not understand?" He leaned forward, his eyes glittering with the fanaticism of his conviction. "You know how sinful you are. How could you not be depraved? You're the seed of a libertine planted in the womb of the greatest harlot born to man. The only way you may be saved from eternal damnation is through me. Now, confess. You dreamed of the mermaid?"

The resistance suddenly seeped out of her. It would do no good to deny it, she thought wearily. "Yes."

He relaxed slightly. "Very good. Now we must determine what led to this sin." His gaze narrowed on her face. "What did you do today?"

"I studied with Master Gywnth. I helped madam make candles."

"Is that all?"

She bit her lower lip. "After I finished my chores, I went for a ride on Caird."

"Ah. To the village?"

"No, the path through the forest." Memories flowed back to her, soothing her: cool, verdant foliage, the smell of earth dampened from the recent rains, the smooth slide of Caird's muscles beneath her, the velvet feel of his muzzle beneath her palm as she had patted him while leading him to the brook to drink.

"You would not tell me an untruth? You spoke to no one?"

"No one." She met his gaze and burst out, "No one, I tell you. Even if I had gone to the village, you know they will not speak to me. Not since you—"

"Then it must have been the ride itself." He frowned. "I never approved of letting you learn to ride. Such freedom is not good for one as weak in spirit as you. It encourages all sorts of—"

Fear ripped through her. He must not take Caird away from her. She could bear anything but that. "No! The lady said I could do it. You said the lady wants me to ride well."

"Hush! You see what impertinence these indulgences breed?"

"She is being troublesome?" Martha stood in the doorway. "Did I not tell you she was getting worse?" She crossed the room and handed Sebastian the small whip she carried. "If you would let me use this on her at my own discretion; she would soon be properly schooled."

He shook his head. "How many times must I tell you? It is my duty alone. You may go back to bed."

She looked at him, surprised. "You do not wish me to stay and bear witness?"

"You may go," he repeated.

Kate was as surprised as the woman. Her punishment was usually performed as a ritual ceremony with the woman digesting every facet of Kate's pain with supreme satisfaction.

"I want to stay," Martha protested. "Why make me leave?"

"It has come to my attention that you enjoy her suffering too much. We do not scourge her body for our pleasure, but to purify her soul."

A flush mottled his wife's cheeks. "I admit I have no liking for this strumpet's-leavings but you have no call to shut me away."

"It is my duty to protect as well as chasten her."

The color deepened with anger. "You lie to yourself," she hissed. "Do you think I don't know? That I haven't seen how you look at her now? I did not want to believe it, but you are—" She broke off as Sebastian's gaze burned.

Kate knew that look that seemed to devour everything in its path, but she had never seen it turned on Martha before.

"What am I?" he prodded with soft menace.

Martha moistened her lips. "Nothing. Nothing. Satan twisted my tongue." She hurried from the chamber.

Sebastian turned back to Kate. "It is time."

She knew what was coming. Her hands nervously clenched the sheet. During the confrontation with his wife there was a chance he might have forgotten about Caird. She must make sure his attention remained on the offense and not what he thought caused it. "It was only a dream," she whispered.

"The dream is a sin. Can you not see how it leads you to willfulness?" He stepped away from the bed. "Go position yourself."

She stood up and moved toward the whipping stool across the room. It would be over soon. He was always careful not to leave scars, and he seldom gave her more than a taste of the whip for such a small infraction. If she feigned remorse…Sweet heaven, the thought of groveling stuck in her throat. Still she would not only show remorse but beg him on her knees to keep Caird and the little parcel of freedom permitted her.

"Bare your back."

She quickly slipped her gown from her shoulders and let it fall to her waist as she knelt beside the stool. She could feel the cold floorboards through the thin cotton of her gown. She spread out her arms as he had taught her from childhood and waited for the first blow.

It did not come.

She glanced over her shoulder. He stood there with the whip in his hand, his gaze on her back. His cheeks were curiously flushed; his hand loosened and tightened on the whip in an odd rhythmic movement.

"How easily you shed your clothing. Are you completely lost to shame?" he asked hoarsely. "Is that how you behaved in your dream?"

She stared at him in bewilderment. He had never found fault with her in this way before. "I told you…the dreams are never like that." Why did he not start? She wanted it over. Trying to keep the impatience from her tone, she said, "You told me to ready myself. I only obeyed."

"With no modesty or decorum." His gaze was fixed on the hollow of her spine where it joined the soft swelling of her buttocks. "I have noticed how you flaunt yourself of late. I feared it would come to this as childhood left you. The bad blood is too strong for you to fight. You must try to tempt every man who comes near you."

"No!"

"Yes." His lips tightened as if he were in pain. "I have seen how you look at men beneath your lashes and smile with that pouty whore's mouth. I know that smile. I have watched her passing through this village, weaving her magic for nearly twenty years. Did you think I would not recognize the signs?"

"I'm not her. I'm not my mother." Her voice shook with anger. "I'm me. I swear I have no wish to tempt any man. I only want to be left alone."

"You lie. All strumpets lie," he hissed. "Even in your sleep you dream of sin. Admit it."

"I do not dream of—" Her hands clenched into fists. "Please do it and get it over with."

"So that you can go back to sleep and lose yourself in lust?" He drew his arm back to strike. "For the good of your soul I must make sure you are not able to indulge yourself this night."

Fire touched her back as the lash struck.

She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

"And I think we will have to rid you of that stallion."

"No!" She screamed at his words as she had not at the lash.

Another blow.

She desperately tried to think through the haze of pain.

The lady. If Sebastian feared anything in the world, it was the wrath of the lady. "The lady will not…like it. She will—"

"It is not always wise to tell the lady everything. The horse is old. He will fall ill and die." The lash struck again. "We will merely neglect to get you another."

Sickness moved through her. "You would kill him?"

"What is the life of a beast when it comes to saving a soul? I should have gotten rid of him when you fled three months ago."

The lash struck again.

And again.

And then again.

She had never seen him in such a frenzy. She did not know how many times the lash fell before the blows finally ceased.

She was barely clinging to awareness when he picked her up and carried her to bed. He laid her down with great gentleness. "Now you will sleep well," he murmured. "Though you should not have forced me to chastise you so severely."

"Please…not Caird…"

"We will talk tomorrow about the horse." He tucked the covers around her. "And then you will watch the act and know it is done only for your sake."

The devil she would. Her nails dug into her palms beneath the covers. She loved Caird. He was the only thing in the world she cared about, and she would not let him be destroyed. She would master this weakness and fight again.

He picked up the candle and moved toward the door. "Good night, Kathryn."

The door had scarcely closed behind him when she threw off the covers and staggered to her feet.

She could not let him kill Caird. Not Caird…

Greenwich Palace

"Black Robert…" the queen murmured. "You have him? You're sure, Percy?"

"Quite sure, Your Majesty," Percy Montgrave said. "I could hardly be more certain. I have two dead men and one wounded to testify to the fact. The earl of Craighdhu is awaiting your pleasure in the Tower."

"Excellent." Elizabeth's beringed hand slapped down on the arm of her chair. "Though God knows it took you long enough. I told you I wanted him six months ago." Her gaze went to the document on the desk across the room. "It's very nearly too late."

Percy's brow wrinkled in puzzlement. The entire court knew how distraught Elizabeth was about the contents of that order, but as far as he could determine, that order had nothing to do with the earl. "He's not an overly obliging gentleman. For a while I wasn't sure if the Spaniards would get him before he returned to Scotland."

Elizabeth shook her head. "He's too clever for them. You took him at Craighdhu?"

Percy shook his head. "Edinburgh. Craighdhu would have been impossible. Those barbarian clansmen of his would not have been amenable to seeing their chief in chains. His Majesty, your kinsman James, however, was all too eager to turn a blind eye while I removed an irritating thorn from his side."

"How impossible?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How impossible is it to break Craighdhu's defenses?"

"Perhaps not entirely impossible." His lips twisted. "If attacked by a fleet the size of the armada Philip of Spain is building to put to sea against Your Majesty."

"That strong…" The news did not seem to displease the Queen. "No weakness?"

"Craighdhu is an island off the western coast of Scotland. I understand it's a barren, dark place of mountains and mists. The castle is well fortified and has only one harbor that can be broached from the sea. That port is extremely well guarded." He paused. "May I ask if there's a reason why we should be concerned about the strength of his lordship's holdings?"

Elizabeth didn't appear to hear him. "What manner of man is he?"

"Deadly."

She waved an impatient hand. "I have no problem with that. A man who is lacking in dangerous qualities is no man at all. What other impressions can you give me?"

God's blood, what did she want from him now? More than a year ago she had demanded and received the most detailed report on the scoundrel he had ever compiled for her. He had been ordered to bring her many such secret reports on various gentlemen during the past three years, but something about the earl of Craighdhu had caught her interest. He could not understand her obsession with this Scot. Robert MacDarren held no power in James's court in Scotland, nor in Elizabeth's in England. Of course, the possibility existed that his pirating of Spanish ships had won her approval. Elizabeth had always expressed a fondness toward her buccaneers, but Robert MacDarren did not fly under her flag.

"Well?" she prompted.

He tried to ignore his own dislike of the fellow and give her what she wanted. "Intelligent."

"Brilliant," she corrected.

He inclined his head. "Perhaps."

"Don't quibble. He took four of Philip's galleons in six months."

"Which may mean he has excellent warrior instincts. That doesn't necessarily mean he's—"

"Brilliant," she reiterated.

"May I remind Your Majesty, he also took one of your ships?"

"I believe he had a purpose in that."

"Gold."

She gazed at him thoughtfully. "He's raised your hackles. You bristle when you speak of him. Why?"

Percy hesitated. "He…annoys me."

She was silent, waiting.

"I do not like these wild Highlanders."

"Particularly this wild Highlander?"

"He's nothing but an outlandish rogue," he burst out. "He has the tongue of a viper, no respect for any authority but his own, and…he laughs too much."

She raised her brow. "Laughs?"

"He finds humor in the most inappropriate subjects."

"Such as?"

He was not about to confess how MacDarren had mocked the turned-up toes of his fashionable puce-colored shoes. "Anything that is out of his realm of barbarism," he said tartly.

"Why won't you…" She trailed off, studying him for a moment, her gaze traveling from his scarlet-feathered velvet cap to the white doublet puffed to almost feminine fullness at his hips and then down to his fine purple hose and silver-embroidered garters. She suddenly chuckled. "He made fun of your attire?"

He flushed. Elizabeth's instinct was uncanny, and she never hesitated to tear aside barriers best left intact. "I did not say that."

"But a brilliant man who has been left without weapons would probe until he found a suitable one."

"Are you saying you find my attire—"

"Entirely suitable," she said soothingly. "You're the envy of all my courtiers, and I like a bit of gaud. But as you say, a man of MacDarren's barbarian upbringing would not appreciate the niceties of court dress." She changed the subject. "He was alone when you took him?"

"A chief of a clan is seldom alone. The clan demands a henchman to accompany the chief at all times for his protection. We were forced to take his cousin, Gavin Gordon, as well." He shrugged. "The man was surprisingly inadequate at his duty. My captain of the guard said it was MacDarren who was forced to protect both himself and the henchman. Gordon was wounded in the fray."

"But he lives?"

"He lost a good deal of blood, but he's on the mend."

"Good. We may be able to use him."

"For what?"

"Even rogues have loyalties, and from what you've reported, the earl is prone to be as extravagant with his friends as he is with his enemies." She stood up with a flurry of amber velvet skirts and adjusted the stiff pleated ruff that framed her throat. "As we shall soon see. Let's get to it. You shall accompany me to the Tower."

"Now?" His eyes widened in surprise. "But it is nearly midnight, Your Majesty."

"All the better. I do not want my visit to be shouted from every street corner in London. Go tell them to summon my barge."

"Would not tomorrow do as well?"

"No, it would not," she snapped. "Thanks to your laggardness, time has almost run out. Do as I bade you."

Percy's lids lowered to hide his anger. By God, it went against the grain to stand here and take her abuse. Queen or not, she was only a woman, and her behavior in this matter went entirely beyond the bounds of reason. First, he had been insulted by that impudent rogue, and now he was being accused of laggardness. What was he supposed to have done? Gone sailing after that barbarian while he raided Spanish galleons?

He took a deep breath and then said through clenched teeth, "Immediately, Your Majesty." He bowed low and backed from the room.

By all that was holy, the man was growing pompous. Elizabeth watched the door close behind Percy before she strolled over to the window to stare out into the darkness. But though a fop and a trifle above his station, Percy was evidently no fool. He had gotten her MacDarren!

She glanced back at the document on her desk and felt the muscles in her back and shoulders tense. It was there, waiting for her signature. Dear God, was there no way out?

She knew the answer.

But she did not have to face it yet. In spite of the pleadings of those bloodthirsty leeches in Parliament, she would not give in.

Not yet.

Not before she set her plans in motion.

How had it come to this? she thought wearily. She had only wished to protect and guard, but lies had a habit of begetting lies until the entire world seemed webbed with falsehood.

She tore her gaze away from the document and immediately felt better. There was no way for her to win that battle. Her coming confrontation with MacDarren was much more to her liking. From what she had heard he was a man worthy of her steel, and there was nothing she liked better than proving to a clever man how much more clever a woman could be.

She turned away from the window and moved briskly toward her dressing room. "Margaret! My cloak."

"I failed you." Gavin glanced gloomily around the small cell and then looked at Robert, who was on the other cot across the room. "We would not be here if I had done my duty."

Robert yawned. "You're entirely right. You're an abysmal henchman. You handle a sword as if it were a broomstick and are as clumsy as a pregnant sea lion."

Gavin wrinkled his nose. "The rest is true enough, but I resent being compared to a sea lion. Besides, how could a lion be pregnant? It would have to be a lioness to—You're not listening."

"I'm listening. You were berating yourself for putting us in this predicament. Go on, I'm sure it's very good for you."

"It's true, you know. I should never have been the one to accompany you. Jock wouldn't have let you be taken."

"We were outnumbered."

"You've been outnumbered before. If I hadn't been wounded, you would have managed to get away."

"Gavin."

"Yes?"

"You're boring me. I agree you're a terrible henchman, but you've always had one saving grace. You were never a bore."

"Just a jester in your hall," Gavin said glumly. "You should have left me at—My God, it's hot in here." He sniffed. "And it smells."

"That's probably me." Robert sniffed. "No, I believe it's you."

Gavin sat up in his cot and swung his legs to the floor. "Next you'll say I smell like a sea lion too."

"I've never gotten close enough to one to smell its scent."

"I have." Gavin's face suddenly lit up with eagerness as he remembered that golden day. "Once I camped out on the barrens and watched them. They were frightened at first, and then they got used to me and let me come close."

"Really? You never told me."

"It was when I was a boy." He frowned, trying to remember. He and Robert, who was five years older, had grown up together on Craighdhu. He had trailed behind him all over the island, and they had shared a multitude of experiences. That day had been so special to Gavin that surely he would have told Robert about it. "It must have been when you were in Spain."

"Perhaps."

Gavin couldn't see Robert's expression in the dim cell, but he heard the sudden reserve in Robert's tone that hadn't been there before. He had blundered again. He knew Robert didn't like to talk about that time. He wasn't usually so stupid; it must be this damn fever. "Well, anyway, I know I don't smell like a sea lion."

"I'll accept your word on it. Are you thirsty?"

"A little." More than a little in truth, but he didn't know if he had the strength to get up and fetch water from the pitcher on the table across the room, and he didn't want to ask Robert for anything more. He had done too much already. He had cared for Gavin as if he were a helpless bairn on the long journey from Edinburgh, binding his wound, bathing his head when the fever struck.

"Lie back down. I'll get you some water."

"No, I can—"

Robert was already moving. Gavin watched as he poured water from the pitcher into a goblet.

"Why did you take me to sea with you this time instead of Jock?"

"You wanted to come."

"I thought I did. All those stories of gold and glory…"

"Well, there was gold aplenty." Robert brought the goblet to Gavin. "But no glory."

Gavin drank thirstily. "I didn't like the blood. I didn't think there would be so much of it."

"You can't take ships without shedding blood, and Craighdhu needs the gold."

Gavin knew that was true. Craighdhu was not fertile enough to feed her people, and Robert had done only what was necessary.

He took another drink. "Are they going to hang us, Robert?"

"I don't think so."

"Then why are we here?"

"You heard Montgrave. The queen wants to see me."

"I told you that you shouldn't have raided her ship."

"I doubt if that's why we're occupying this cell. Everyone knows Montgrave handles the queen's more confidential assignments."

"Then why?"

"I have a few ideas. More water?"

Gavin shook his head.

"Then lie down again." Robert gently pushed him back and covered him with the blanket.

He had never known Robert could be gentle until he had fallen ill, Gavin thought. No, that was not true. He could dimly remember that gentleness when they were younger. But since Robert had been back from Spain, he had known only the hard, mocking man they called Black Robert of Craighdhu. The chief who distanced himself from everyone and let no one come too close, the leader who dealt in blood and force as easily as he executed the decisions of the clan. Not like himself, Gavin thought ruefully, remembering how he had hung his head over the rail and been sick after his first battle.

Robert sat back down on his own cot and leaned against the wall. He didn't seem worried, but then Robert seldom showed his feelings. Gavin had watched him sit that way a hundred times, outwardly at ease but drawing silence and strength around him like a cloak of power.

Gavin said, "If she does intend to hang us—"

"Then we'll find a way to escape."

"You'll have to go without me."

"No."

Gavin had known that would be his answer, but he felt honor-bound to pursue it. "I'm not strong enough to be any good to you."

"You're stronger than you think." Robert's tone was final, and Gavin felt a tiny rush of relief. It was all very well to offer to sacrifice your life, but it was infinitely better to have that offer refused. Not that he had expected anything else. Gavin belonged to Craighdhu, and to Robert that meant he must be protected against all enemies. Besides, why should he be worried? Robert would manage to get them out of here. Robert was more clever than anyone he knew. If it became necessary, he would find a way to escape. and take Gavin with him.

"You're probably right." Gavin's tone became light as he settled himself into a more comfortable position. "I've always found I rise splendidly to any occasion."

"That doesn't involve blood," Robert added dryly.

"Well, then you'll just have to think of some way to get us out of here that meets that condition, won't you?"

···

The cell was dank, dark, and unpleasant, Elizabeth noticed, as Percy threw open the door. By the light of the candle he carried, she could barely discern two figures on cots across the room.

"Take Gordon to another cell until we're through with the earl," Montgrave ordered the guard accompanying them. "Her Majesty wishes to speak to His Lordship in privacy."

The guard roughly pulled Gordon from his cot and pushed him toward the door.

A curse erupted from the other cot. "Goddammit, be careful, you fool," Robert MacDarren said sharply. "Let him walk by himself. Do you wish to open his wound?"

The guard didn't answer as he pushed Gavin Gordon past Elizabeth. She caught a glimpse of tousled red hair, bloodshot blue eyes, and freckles dusting a parchment-pale face. Why, he was only a boy. She doubted if he had reached his twentieth year. A strange choice to guard the man they called Black Robert.

"On your feet," Percy said to MacDarren as he placed the candle on the table. "Can you not see who is honoring you with her presence?"

The dark figure on the cot didn't move. Arrogance, Elizabeth thought. Well, she had no quarrel with arrogance. She had an abundance of that quality herself, and a touch of it in him would serve her well.

"Leave us, Percy." She moved forward into the cell. "Come back when I call."

"But, Your Majesty," Percy protested. "It's not safe. He will—"

"Throttle me? Ridiculous," she scoffed. "He may be without manners, but he's no madman. Go."

Percy hesitated before stepping back and slamming shut the door.

"Now that he's gone, do you suppose you could bring yourself to display courtesy?" she admonished. "You do not have to prance and pose to show how brave and uncaring you are."

There was a moment of silence, and then MacDarren chuckled. "Good evening, Your Majesty." He stood up and bowed. "Forgive me. I judged you incorrectly. I assumed you had a fondness for poseurs like Montgrave. Naturally, in my precarious situation I wanted only to please you."

She peered into the shadows but could discern only the white blur of his shirt and the fact that he was big, very big. "I cannot see you. Come closer."

"I fear I'm both disheveled and aromatic. I understand your senses are very delicate, and I would not offend you."

Mockery. She suppressed a flare of anger. One of the reasons she had chosen him was his lack of reverence for authority, and she could not have it both ways. However, it might be wise to remind him that authority had certain advantages. "My feelings are not so sensitive that I could not bear to witness you punished for your insolence. This tower has witnessed the breaking of stronger men than you, my lord. Now, come here and let me see you."

He let a moment pass before strolling forward into the pool of light.

God's blood, he was comely.

She had always had a fondness for dark men. Her own dear Robin had this same Latin coloring. No doubt it was MacDarren's Spanish mother who had given him his gypsy-black hair, the brows that slashed over deep-set dark eyes, and the skin that was more golden than tan. Unusually high cheekbones hollowed his cheeks and made his well-shaped lips appear all the more sensual in contrast. His body was tall and fit, his legs powerful and bulging with muscle in their hose, and he had moved with a sleek, animallike grace that stirred her senses. Comeliness was not necessary for her purpose, but she was pleased that he possessed it.

"But you have no desire to break me," he said softly. "Do you, Your Majesty? You have something else in mind."

She gazed at him with wariness. "You think so? That must have given you comfort, lying here in this dark cell."

He smiled. "It did, actually."

Good white teeth, she noticed, and, though charged with mockery, that smile had a certain bold charm.

"I'm sure that disappoints you," he continued. "Did you picture me lying here trembling in fear of your royal wrath?"

"It would not be unheard-of in your situation."

He shook his head. "If you had wanted me dead, Montgrave could have accomplished that end in Edinburgh. Instead, you brought me to London at some little bother to dear Percy."

"More than some little bother. Two dead men, I understand."

"But you thought it worthwhile to forfeit their lives for your purpose."

"Perhaps I wanted to show my people I will not tolerate piracy."

"Unless you receive a generous tribute from the Spanish treasure chests."

She didn't bother to deny it. "But you gave me no tribute and did not confine yourself to Spanish ships. You attacked one of mine."

"Did I?"

"And led the captain of that ship to believe you were acting on the orders of your Scottish king. James was not pleased when I sent him a protest. Not only had he not received the tribute that might have soothed the sting of my note, but he had most certainly not sent you forth to raid my ships."

His smile didn't waver. "I didn't exactly say I was acting on James's orders."

She snorted. "Quibbling. You were amazingly restrained in that attack. You took booty but no lives. I believe you attacked my ship for only one reason. You wanted me to believe that James was interfering with my fleet."

His lids lowered to veil his eyes. "Why would I do that?"

"That's one of the things I want to know. You have questions to answer."

"I so detest questions."

The mockery was back, and she was suddenly impatient with him. "That boy they took out of here is your kinsman?"

"Gavin?" His smile vanished. "Yes, my cousin."

"And I understand as chief you act as father and protector of your clan. Unless you wish to rescue him from a very unpleasant fate, it would be wise to answer me clearly and fully."

An expression flickered over his face that caused her to take a step back. She was actually afraid of him. The knowledge amazed her and then sent a tiny thrill through her. There had been no reason for her to be afraid for many years, and absolute safety was always a little boring. As queen she was protected and guarded by her very position, but MacDarren cared nothing for her crown. Deadly, Percy had said about him. She had an idea he was more deadly than the man knew.

"Ask your questions," he said coldly.

"Why my ship?"

"You seem to have guessed. I did it to annoy James. The opportunity presented itself, and I took it."

"But why in this way?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "It was a chance to divide you. James is powerful enough already, and everyone knows you're considering naming him as heir to your throne. It would not be to my advantage to have him king of England as well as Scotland. He has no liking for Highlanders."

"Particularly for you."

He inclined his head. "We have had words on occasion. Is that all you wish to know?"

"For the moment. I know a good deal about you already and have guessed more. If I think of something else, I will let you know."

"But it's not only information you want from me, is it?" he asked softly. "It's action."

It was true, but he could not possibly have guessed her purpose. She was curious to know what conclusions that agile mind had drawn. "And just what action do you think I wish from you?"

"Assassination?"

"What?"

He studied her astonished expression. "No?" He shrugged. "It was a reasonable conclusion."

"Assassinate who?"

"James."

She looked at him, surprised. "You believe I chose you to kill a fellow monarch?"

"There would be certain advantages. I'm a Scot, and everyone knows I have no love for James. That would draw suspicion away from you. You've kept James's mother, Mary, captive for nearly twenty years because you fear her claim to the English throne. Now, rumor has it the Parliament has asked you to end that captivity…violently."

"She instigated a plot to take my life," she said quickly.

"But with Mary of Scotland dead and James suddenly removed as well, it would throw Scotland in turmoil. What a perfect opportunity for you to march across the border and restore order." He added, "And gather Scotland up like a goose for the cooking."

He was clever. If the circumstances had been the same fifteen years ago, she might have decided to do just as he supposed. "If that was what I wished to do. It is not. Though she has been a constant threat to me, I have avoided executing Mary for years." She cracked her fist down on the table. "I have no wish to see her die. She is a queen, and the lives of royalty should be sacrosanct. All monarchs walk a thin line between life and death. If I take her life, who is to say that tomorrow another king won't deem I should also die? To put her to death is to put myself in danger."

"Then you will disregard the order of execution drawn up by Parliament?"

She did not answer directly. "I do not wish to see her die." She lifted her gaze to his face. "And if I wished to kill James, it would be in battle, not by assassination. So you are wrong on both counts. But you are correct that I do intend to use you for my own purpose."

"And that purpose?"

"I intend to make a bridegroom of you."

He stared at her, stunned, before he threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "Good God, are you proposing to me? The Virgin Queen who has refused half the royalty in Europe?" He swept her a low bow. "I accept. And when shall we wed, Your Majesty?"

"You know I did not mean myself," she said, annoyed. "Your impudence is beyond belief."

He clutched his breast. "Stabbed to the heart. And just when I thought happiness was to be mine."

Another side of him was suddenly before her. For an instant his grimness had vanished, and his face was alight with wicked mischief. She struggled to suppress a smile. "Percy is right…you are a rogue. Since you're so eager to wed, you will have no objection if I choose the bride."

"I did not say that. Alas, I fear it's you or no one for me."

Her smile vanished. "And I fear, if you do not do as I tell you, that you will be without a henchman."

The coldness returned to his expression at the threat. "I do not wed at England's command."

"Nor at Scotland's, evidently. James has sent you three candidates for your inspection."

"Because he wants a claim on Craighdhu and sees no other way to get it. He finds our trade routes with Ireland appealing." He smiled crookedly. "As I'm sure you do also, Your Majesty."

"I don't care a whit for your Irish trade routes."

He lifted a skeptical brow. "Then why are you trying to furnish me with a bride from your court?"

"She is not from my court. The girl lives in the Midlands. She is Mistress Kathryn Anne Kentyre. The child has reached her sixteenth year and is in good health, has been well schooled, and is not unattractive. She has no title, and, though of gentle birth, is not legitimate. You must take her away at once and never bring her back to England." She went on briskly. "Naturally, there will be no dowry. You're lucky to escape with your head still intact. The wedding will take place at once, and you will—"

"Where in the Midlands?" His gaze was fixed on her face, and she could almost see the wheels of thought turning.

"Sheffield," she said reluctantly.

"One of Shrewsbury's lands." He was silent as he stared at her. She could almost see the moment when he made the connection. He gave a low whistle. "By God, it's true."

"I fear I don't know what you're talking about."

"She did have a child."

She gazed at him without speaking.

"I may be a poor ignorant Scot, but even I've heard about Bess Shrewsbury's charges." He sat down on the cot and leaned back against the stone wall. "I assure you, everyone in Scotland found the scandal very interesting."

"I did not give you permission to sit in my presence."

He ignored the sharp injunction, his gaze searching her face for any change of expression. "She's Mary's daughter?"

"Everyone knows that Mary has only one child, and he sits on the throne of Scotland."

"Not according to Bess Shrewsbury. She claims her husband and Mary enjoyed the closeness of Mary's captivity to the utmost. What was her story? That Mary bore him two children while he was holding the queen captive for you on his estate all those years?"

"Bess Shrewsbury is an ambitious, spiteful woman. I reprimanded her for spreading such rumors."

"And neatly silenced her."

"The earl of Shrewsbury gave himself selflessly to the task of keeping Mary comfortably imprisoned. He's a loyal servant of the crown."

"And Mary was a beautiful young woman and known to be selfish and headstrong…a lonely, passionate woman held captive away from the world. It's only reasonable she would reach out to the only man within her reach. Was there just the daughter and not another issue?"

"I told you, Bess Shrewsbury was a liar."

"So there was only one.…" His tone was musing. "But that was more than enough. You couldn't let it be known, could you? There was already too much outcry about you keeping Mary prisoner. Since half of Scotland already looked upon Mary as a harlot, I'm sure you had no trouble convincing her to give up the child. But if the truth had come out, there was always the chance she might have claimed the earl had raped her, and that would have given her supporters in the north of England cause to join with France or Spain to overthrow you."

"This is all supposition."

He leaned forward. "Then let's carry the supposition a little further. Suppose this child is Mary's daughter. Suppose she is the illegitimate daughter of the queen of Scotland."

"Mary is no longer queen. She abdicated in favor of her son."

"But James has never been popular with the people. There are many nobles who would be pleased to find another Stuart to rally around. That wouldn't please you, would it?"

God's blood, he had a facile mind. She had known he would probably reach this conclusion, but not with such quickness. "Supposition again. You're very good at it. However, the child is only sixteen, hardly a threat."

"You were not a good deal older when you ascended to the throne, and they called you a young lioness."

A rush of fierce satisfaction surged through her. "Yes, by Judas, they had to reckon with me. I sank my teeth into them and made them know a woman could—" She shrugged. "But I was extraordinary. Even if this is Mary's daughter…" She trailed off, then added, "And I don't say that she is. Do you think I'd fear a child unschooled in court intrigue?"

"Yet you fear something, or I would not be here."

"I fear nothing." He continued to stare skeptically at her, and finally she said, " If the child is who you say she is, she could be used as a pawn. It would be wise to remove her from English soil."

"So you send her to Scotland where James would be eager to dispose of any claimant to the throne and rid you of the task."

"No!" She tried to temper the harshness of her voice. "I send her to Craighdhu. You will wed her and take her to your island and keep her there."

"Oh, I will?"

"There are already too many rumors in the air concerning the child. I've tried to keep her isolated, but if someone should discover—No, she must be taken away as soon as possible."

"And why by me?"

"Because you're the most suitable. Do you think I chose you blindly? I've searched over three years for a solution to this problem. You're not perfect, but you'll have to do. You hate the Spanish, so you'll not go running to Philip with the girl. You're of noble blood and warrior stock. You have no bonds to anyone but your Highlanders and show no ambition to climb higher than you are in the world."

"Because there is no place higher to climb than to be lord of Craighdhu."

He meant it. The simple words were spoken with absolute sincerity and authority. She had seen rulers of nations who did not exude that air of power.

"Nonsense. But it suits me to have you believe that arrogant folderol. As long as you cling to that notion, you will not use the child to try to seize a crown." She frowned. "But you must stop raiding Philip's ships."

"Indeed? But I may continue to raid yours?"

"I believed you when you said that you did that just to prick at James, but you must not indulge in such mischief again. I won't have you killed on the seas when you should be at Craighdhu protecting the girl. You must keep her safe."

"I could see how my death could be inconvenient to you," he said ironically. "I regret to refuse you, but I have no desire to become embroiled in your plots, and certainly no desire to wed."

"You must wed sometime."

He shrugged. "When I do, it will be with someone who can bring something to Craighdhu besides bloodshed."

"You've not shown any reluctance to shed blood in the past."

"But it's an oddity of mine that I prefer to choose when and where I fight." He met her gaze. "And it won't be in your cause, Your Majesty."

"Nor in James's, evidently. What will you fight for?"

"Craighdhu," he said simply. "Only Craighdhu."

"Good," she said. It was the answer for which she had hoped. "Then if the girl is at Craighdhu, she will be secure."

"Perhaps I'm not making myself clear. I will not wed the girl."

"You will wed her." She paused. "Or I will take your henchman out and hang him and then have his body dismembered into so many pieces, there will not be anything left to bury in your precious Craighdhu."

He went still. "I've not heard that Your Majesty is in the habit of killing innocent men to enforce your will."

"The girl is innocent too. I will not have her caught in a trap because of her birth. I thought her safe for a few more years at Sheffield, but now I cannot…" She stopped. "You must take her away at once. I will have your word on it."

"You expect me to keep a vow forced on me?"

"You will keep it. Percy tells me a Highlander's vow is sacred. You will give me your word to wed her and take her to Craighdhu."

He was silent.

"Do not make me prove I mean what I say. I have no desire to kill your clansman. There is too much death in the air right now," she added wearily.

He still did not speak, his gaze searching her expression for any sign of weakness. She showed him none.

He muttered a curse and then said between his teeth, "You have my vow."

"That's not enough. Give me the words."

He said with icy precision, "I promise to wed the girl and take her to Craighdhu."

Relief flowed through her. It was done. "Very sensible. You will be released at dawn and given back your purse and horses. You will go directly to Sheffield, where the girl resides in a cottage a few miles from the village. She's cared for by the vicar and his good wife. Sebastian Landfield is a godly man and has devoted the last thirteen years to her well-being. Percy will give you a letter I've written bidding the vicar give you custody of the girl. She will be no trouble. The vicar assures me she is presentable and has been raised to be a loyal Protestant and a meek, virtuous maiden." She moved toward the door. "You've made a wise decision, my lord."

"I didn't make it, you did. I prefer to make my own choices." He rose slowly to his feet. "And when I don't, it makes me…annoyed."

He was more than annoyed. He was in a cold rage, and she again felt that intriguing thrill of fear. She had all the weapons in this encounter, and yet she still experienced a moment of uncertainty and regret. There were so few interesting men in the world, and she would probably never see him again. It was a pity she was being forced to sacrifice him to the girl. "Someone must win in every battle."

"You have not won yet, Your Majesty."

"I have your word."

A flicker of indefinable emotion crossed his face. "Yes, you have my word."

"Then I have won." Her lips thinned. "And upon my oath, if I hear of you mistreating her, I'll send an armada of my own to Craighdhu to punish you." She crossed the room and shouted, "Percy! Let me out of here. I'm done with him."

"That's not quite true, Your Majesty," MacDarren said softly. "You're not done with me yet."

"What do you—" She glanced over her shoulder and saw in his expression not only anger but implacable resolution. MacDarren clearly had no intention of permitting her to walk away a complete victor. Perhaps she had been wrong, and she might indeed see him again. It was not a totally unpleasant thought.

She smiled at him. "Good evening, my lord." As the door opened, she swept out of the cell.

···

"A bridegroom," Gavin murmured. "What a felicitous thought. You staying close to the hearth while your meek young wife hovers over her loom sewing a fine—"

"I'm glad you find this so amusing," Robert said grimly. "I should have let Her Majesty chop you to pieces."

Gavin winced. "The idea is obscene. I choose not to dwell on it. Besides, it's time you wed. I've grown weary of all this traveling about."

"Then you wed and go sit by the fire."

"But no one has arranged such a fine marriage for me." He quickly changed the subject as Robert shot him a lethal glance. "We go direct to Sheffield?"

"The queen was most explicit. It appears she's in a great hurry."

"Why?"

Robert was silent a moment, thinking about it. "Mary. She's going to let it happen."

"You think she's going to sign the order to execute Mary? But she's been avoiding it for weeks."

And Elizabeth had said twice to him that she did not want to execute Mary of Scotland, Robert remembered. Yet he was well aware that desire and necessity did not always go hand in hand. God knows, some of the decisions he was forced to make as chief of his clan were not to his liking. The urgency with which she had insisted that the removal of Mary's daughter from England take place at once did not make sense unless she had decided to take that final, deadly step in her dealings with Mary. He said slowly, "I believe she will either sign the order or find a way to have Mary executed that will shift some of the blame from her own shoulders."

"So she's feeling a twinge of guilt and wants the lass away from the uproar before she kills her mother. What a gentle lady." Gavin shook his head. "You think the girl will bring trouble to Craighdhu?"

"I won't let her."

"Trouble follows royalty like bees do flowers."

"I won't let her," Robert repeated, enunciating each word with precision.

"You're angry."

"Oh, yes."

"But you're going to obey the queen?"

"I gave my word." He paused. "But the way I keep it may not be in the fashion she wishes."

Gavin gave a low whistle. "We may have some interesting times ahead." He moved restlessly on his cot. "It's cold in here."

Robert turned his head. "You were hot before. Do you have the fever again?"

"I don't think so," he said.

Muttering a curse, Robert got up from his cot and threw his own blanket over Gavin. "Don't lie to me. I'm going to have enough trouble hauling a woman over those mountains in wintertime. Do you think I want to carry your corpse all the way back to Craighdhu too?"

"May the saints forbid I cause you such trouble." Gavin settled himself more comfortably under the layers of blanket. "In order to prevent such an inconvenience, I'll reluctantly accept your generosity. I would never want to—"

"Be quiet."

"My, you are testy. But I'll forgive you. It must be bridegroom nerves that—"

"Gavin."

A low chuckle issued from the younger man.

Robert settled down again on his cot and closed his eyes. Gavin's depression regarding his failure as a henchman had entirely vanished, and his usual puckish humor was rapidly rising to the forefront. Ordinarily, Robert would have welcomed the transformation, but his mood was too savage for him to appreciate drollery. He wanted to break something, dammit. No, not just something, he wanted to break the neck of that royal red-haired bitch who had so arrogantly involved him in her intrigues. Well, she would not succeed. To wed Mary's daughter would be to put the only thing he held dear in jeopardy. He would not have Craighdhu made into a battleground for the factions that were tearing England and Scotland apart. Let them all destroy themselves fighting over their religions and ambitions for the throne. When they were all gone, Craighdhu would still be there, stronger than ever.

By the Saints, he would see that it was.

He was almost asleep when Gavin spoke again. "Would you like me to play the pipes at the wedding? I know they're generally played only for battle, but there is a certain resemblance in this case, isn't there?"

"No pipes."

"Or I could—"

"Gavin, go to sleep. "