Lord of the Highlands (Highlands #4)

Lord of the Highlands (Highlands #4) Page 19

“I am a minister and a seeker, wending my way through the countryside, sowing the seeds of God’s word, nourishing myself on the gentle wisdom of the simpler folk.” He sighed gustily. “Until I met a goddess.”

“A goddess, eh?” Jamie chuckled.

“A god-dess, I say.” He pronounced the word grandiosely, his eyes clouding dreamily. “With hair like the sunlight and the otherworldly mien of an uneasy angel.”

“So where’s your god-dess now?” Jamie tipped the last of his whisky back.

“Alas, she travels with another. And so I come to drown my sorrows on my journey home.”

“Funny, we seem to have much the same goal.” Jamie’s voice had just the slightest slur at the edges.

“To our common aspirations.”

Jamie slammed his whisky glass down and raised his ale to the stranger’s toast.

“May I know the name of the man who shares my most admirable objective?”

“Rollo,” he said simply, swiping his sleeve along his mouth.

The minister spewed ale from his mouth. “Any relation to the Lord Rollo?”

“I am the Lord Rollo.” Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “The eldest.”

“One of the esteemed Lords Rollo of Dunning Parish? It is an honor,” he said warily. “Though, you are not familiar to me. You must have been away for some time.”

“Aye.” His voice grew menacingly quiet. “Some time.”

“Then”—his eyes flashed wide—“you are brother to the one who claims the hand of my Venus.”

Jamie barked out a sharp laugh. “Surely you’re mistaken. My brother’s a cripple who—”

“I’d know him anywhere.” It was the minister’s voice that grew quiet now. “He rode with Montrose, for the King.”

“Aye, that’s the self- righteous prig.” Jamie’s face flattened, his eyes grown chill. “My brother travels with . . . a woman?”

The minister nodded vigorously, pleased to have met a conspirator as appalled by this turn of events as he. Jamie studied the man. He seemed a self-involved sort. The sort whose narcissism left him guileless, too utterly caught up in his own affairs to suspect the designs of another.

Skepticism turned to a sly sort of hope, as it dawned on Jamie just what sort of grief he could cause his brother. “What’s your name, minister?”

“Robertson.” He tipped his glass to Jamie. “Alexander Robertson. Witch pricker.”

“Robertson of Dunning,” he stated, understanding dawning.

“I see you’ve heard of me?” The minister’s affected virtuosity curdled into something considerably less high-minded.

An ego, Jamie thought with a wicked smile. “Oh indeed. Your good works precede you.”

He’d strike up an alliance with this minister, he decided suddenly. One never knew when one would need the friendship of a power hungry religious lunatic. It was gravy that the man had taken a fancy to Will’s woman.

He’d meet this woman. See if she might not be the dagger he could stab into his brother’s back.

Chapter 11

“Wow, it’s so pretty here. Look.” Felicity pointed. “There’s another stream, do you see? Just over that rise.”

Will gave a noncommittal grunt.

Felicity looked at him with raised brows, the smile not budging from her face. Will had almost kissed her, and nothing could get her down. Not even his grumpy mood.

Because he’d said she was lovely. He almost kissed her and he thought she was lovely. Too lovely, if she recalled correctly.

“So, what’s the difference between Perth and Perthshire anyway? Perthshire. It sounds like something from The Hobbit.” She inhaled deeply, and her breath hung like mist in the crisp air. Will had given her a tartan shawl, and she loved the feel of the chill on her face while her body was so comfortably warm. “That’s us, just riding our horses down to the shire.”

“It’s pronounced Perth-sure,” Will muttered. “Not Perthshire.”

Maybe he was grumpy because he hadn’t gotten to kiss her. Her grin grew wider at the prospect.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she pressed. “Is Perth—”

“Perth is the city.”

“So are your parents close to the city?”

“Somewhat.”

“Hey,” she exclaimed. Will was no longer by her side, and realizing it, she pulled her horse to a stop. “Where’d you go?” Putting a hand at the rear of her saddle, she twisted her body around to face him. “Is something bothering . . .”

Will’s reins were knotted high on his horse’s neck, and he was in the process of dismounting.

“What the heck are you doing?”

“It’s time for a rest,” he answered in a clipped voice.

“Mm-hm.” Felicity’s eyes narrowed. “We’re, what, an hour away from your castle, and you’re resting?”

“Aye.”

Visions of baths, roaring fires, and hot buttered bread had been dancing in her head all morning. She was not going to stop now. “C’mon, Will. I’m dying to see your place. Can’t you just rest when we get there?”

“It’s not quite like that.”

“What do you mean, not like that?” Reluctantly, she turned her horse, walked back to him, and dismounted. “I’ve spent the past how many weeks wanting to rest, and now you finally decide to take it easy?”

“Please,” he said simply.

She heard something in his voice, something tight, pained even, and she decided not to push it. She would get to the bottom of it, though, she decided. If it killed her.

She watched quietly as he took a woolen blanket from where it was rolled at the back of his saddle. He tossed it to her wordlessly, and then plopped down at the foot of a silver-barked tree.

“All right,” she told him. With a shrug, she unfurled the blanket on the ground next to him, and sat on it. “I’m always up for a rest.”

Silence.

“How long are we resting for?”

“A while.”

“Good. A while.” She stretched her legs in front of her, waggling her feet. “A good, long while.”

She sighed, looking around. Perthshire really was ridiculously pretty. They were riding along the base of a valley. The stretch of land was yellowed with the season and bordered by grand, old trees. Soft reddish ferns, long grasses, and renegade clumps of winter wildflowers clung to the soil like a lush and ragged patchwork.

Though she missed modern conveniences, she hadn’t thought of the city once. Taking in the landscape, she marveled at what she’d been missing all these years. Despite the dirt, despite the discomfort, she’d felt moments of true contentment on their slow ride through the countryside. Just her and Will, with some horses, and gorgeous land all around. It made her wonder what, exactly, she’d been searching for in her old life, when here joy seemed so ready for the taking.

A breeze caught the treetops, and leaves rustled overhead. “Wait,” she blurted out, realizing what was missing. “Where are all the birds?”

“There are geese.”

“I haven’t seen any,” she said, studying the sky. “Anyway, where are the rest of the birds? We’re out in the middle of nowhere. Shouldn’t there be twittering and chirping?”

“I imagine they’ve flown south. It is almost winter, after all.”

“Oh. Of course. We don’t really get winter in San Francisco. There are birds year-round.”

He nodded quietly.

So much for their little nature discussion.

Was he acting so funny because of what had happened between them the night before? Either way, Will was about to arrive home. “Aren’t you excited? When was the last time you were home?”

“Years.”

“Years? You haven’t been home for years?” She shifted to face him where he sat, in profile, against the tree. “Where have you been?”

“At war. There’s been much fighting. I’m weary from it.”

“Ohhh,” she said, as it all became clear. “Is that what the minister meant by your exploits? Are you some sort of war hero?”

“Aye. Some sort.”

Admiration swelled in her. Of course Will was a hero. The way he sat on his horse, so brave and strong, clocking all the bad guys with his cane and his knife? She should’ve known it.

“Well then you should be extra happy to come home.” She waited for a response, but he wasn’t making this easy. Squaring her shoulders, Felicity decided direct was best. “Why aren’t you happier?”

“Happier?” He swung his head to face her.

There was something raw in his eyes. Something deeper than pain, more complicated than anger.

She considered backing off, but plowed ahead before she lost her nerve. “You’ve been away fighting at war. You haven’t been home in years. We’ve been on the road forever. We’re finally almost there, and you decide to stop now. Here.” She opened her hands to gesture to the land around them. “What’s the deal?”

“The horses needed to graze.”

She didn’t buy it for a minute. “But aren’t you excited to get home?”

“By excited, do you mean agitated?” He gave a humor-less laugh. “Then, aye, I am excited indeed.”

She studied him. The dark look on his face spoke to something more than just whether or not they’d kissed. “Is it your father? Are you worried about seeing your father? You’d said he was . . . sick.”

“Aye.” He raised his chin, inhaling deeply. “Mayhap that’s a part of it.”

“Well, your mom is fine, though, right? Aren’t you looking forward to seeing her?”

Will’s sharp laugh startled her. “My mother. Looking forward to seeing my mother? No, lass, that wouldn’t exactly be my choice of words.”