The Thistle and the Rose Read online

  By the time the warrior had traveled the few steps to her bedside, Celia was nearly asleep again. Colin sat beside her and gazed at her face, softly illuminated by the light of the flickering firelight. Her eyes opened briefly, and she smiled at him. She reached out and took his hand, holding it to her lips.

  “Have you sent your messages off?” she asked lazily, dozing off with the last word.

  “Aye,” Colin replied, stroking the side of her sleeping face. “But I didn't come here to talk about that.”

  “Hmm?” she responded, not quite able to force her eyes open.

  “I came to talk about you and me.”

  Pausing between each word, Celia murmured without waking, “You? Me? Love me? I love you.”

  Colin gripped her hands firmly in his. He knew these words came from her heart. And her angelic face reflected the comfortable security she must be feeling beside him.

  “Celia,” he said softly.

  “Hmmm?”

  “I love you.”

  “Hmmm.” The satisfaction in her sigh told Colin all he wanted to know. All his life, Colin had had opportunities for marriage. Young, sometimes infantile, daughters of Lowland lairds, Highland chiefs, even French noblemen. For the most part, they were women who offered the homely training of wife and possible mother. These were good things, Colin knew, but they were not enough for him. He wanted a friend, a lover, a companion, with intelligence that she was not afraid to exercise. He wanted an equal who would share in and add to the dreams he had for his people and his land.

  As he sat thinking of these things, he knew that he'd begun to doubt that such a woman existed...until now. Looking down at her, Colin knew that if he'd ever expected to find such a woman, he never imagined she'd be the beauty who was lying before him.

  From the first moment he saw her, Celia had kept him off balance, had even knocked him flat at times. It was not Alec who had been upended, it was Colin. Alec might have felt her sword at his throat, but it was Colin who felt her passion, her desire, her love, pierce his heart.

  Colin sat in the fading firelight for a while, thinking of the course of a life that had brought him to this moment, to this woman. Suddenly he couldn't imagine changing any step of the way that had led him here. Suddenly he couldn't imagine a future without her.

  This was the woman he had searched for. He would never let her go.

  “I've been waiting for you for a long time,” Colin whispered to the sleeping Celia, caressing her hair, her smooth face. He leaned over and kissed her lightly.

  His words were soft, but they were clear.

  “Marry me.”

  Chapter 11

  It is an unholy marriage of demons. These shifty-eyed Scots have arrived with their haggard-faced earl, and we see him with Danvers. With this disreputable lot, we are thousands strong now, an army on the hunt, and the countryside is our prey. The word is that this land that we scour and pillage, loot, and burn belongs to this Scot, Argyll. But still the killing goes on. And as I watch Danvers, he watches with a sneer as Argyll turns his face.

  We make our choices...we choose our demons.

  “Well, I'm glad you're not thinking of marrying, Celia,” Dunbar said. “After all, you're over twenty, and way past the age of being molded into a good wife.”

  “Good wife? Molded?” Celia exploded. “First of all, do not start in with your old-fashioned views about how a married woman must act. Second, I've just said that I've no intention of marrying Colin. I didn't come to Kildalton to find a husband, and although a woman couldn't find a better man than Colin Campbell, I haven't forgotten why we are here. And lastly, he hasn't asked me and probably will not.”

  Celia stood at the window in her room, feeling the warm morning sunlight caressing her shoulders. Edmund and Father William had been at her door early, carrying her breakfast and wanting to talk. She had been so overpowered with sleep the night before that now Celia wondered if Agnes had given her something to make her rest. She only had a vague recollection of Colin coming in and sitting beside her, but it could have been a dream.

  “That's a fine thing for a priest,” Edmund shot at Dunbar. “A member of the clergy recommending that young people live in sin.”

  “I'm neither recommending sinful ways,” Father William glowered, “nor am I speaking about young people.”

  “Then I believe I'm entering into dotage at an early age,” Edmund returned. “What are you talking ab—”

  “I'm talking about your niece, you old fool,” the priest responded hotly. “But you probably are getting senile, with all the blows to the head that you've taken in your career.”

  “If you're talking about Celia, I think she'd make someone a fine wife.”

  “I've known her since she was fourteen years old,” Dunbar interrupted. “And I know her to be braver than half the young men who survived Flodden, and more intelligent than the other half. Do you mean to stand there and say that any self-respecting laird left in Scotland will accept a wife who's his superior in every way? Impossible.”

  “You do not know Colin Campbell, priest,” Edmund stated emphatically.

  “Nay, but I know that the Campbells are one of the wealthiest clans in Scotland. His mother was of royal blood...French, I know...but still royal. When Colin gets around to choosing a wife, it'll be someone of his own social level.”

  “She is of his social level,” Edmund exploded. “She might not have a fortune at hand to give him, but she is descended from kings. She is descended from the Bruce himself. She is—“

  “Excuse me,” Celia cut in, not really wanting to hear all these things. “But were we not discussing Kit's situation?”

  “There is nothing more to discuss about Kit's situation,” the priest responded. He still felt worked up over Celia's relationship with the young Campbell heir. He'd been Celia's confessor and tutor. He'd watched her agile mind bloom into a garden of ideas and intellectual interests. Dunbar loved this young woman as if she were his own daughter. He would not stand by silently to see her hurt by some short term fancy on the part of the powerful Colin Campbell. It was just a good thing that he was here now, in time to head off Edmund's blind foolishness regarding Celia and Colin. After all, she had seen plenty of the goings-on at court, but she was still an innocent in matters of her own heart.

  “Aye, there is, Father William,” Celia scolded gently. “But when it comes to me, you two act like a couple of overly protective mother ducks, squabbling over a single little hatchling.”

  Celia knew just how much these two men loved her, but right now, they all had to concentrate on Kit.

  “All right,” the priest conceded grudgingly. “But not much to discuss. I've agreed to stay right here until Edmund's message reaches Huntly, but there's no reason for us to reveal Kit's identity to the Campbells.”

  When Colin and Lord Hugh had sent their message the previous evening to Huntly and the other nobles now gathered at Stirling, Father William and Edmund had sent a message, as well. Colin had cast an inquisitive glance at the two when they had approached him, but he did not question them.

  “Are you saying that you do not trust the Campbells?” Edmund asked.

  “I do not distrust them,” Dunbar replied. “But why should we answer a question that hasn't been asked?”

  This was difficult for Celia to argue. How could she explain her need to confide in Colin, to share with him all the matters that were pressing on her? If he knew Kit's identity, surely he would help the boy recover what was rightfully his. She knew deep in her heart that she should tell him, but she would honor Father William's judgment. She would wait until Colin asked, but she could not let her feelings go unsaid.

  “Colin can be trusted, Father,” Celia said, taking the priest's hand. “I'll stake my life and my vow on it.”

  As Celia, Ellen, and Kit started down the wide steps to the Great hall, Celia realized that the homeless refugees were no longer in residence there. In fact, the dogs had reclaimed their places about the h
all. By the time they'd reached the ground floor, the black canine form of Bear was awaiting them, his long tail wagging. Celia smiled at the beast, taking his great head in her hands.

  “Celia!” Lord Hugh called, changing direction as he spotted the women and the bairn. He had been going outside to supervise the ongoing defensive preparations, but that could all wait. He gestured for the men who were attending him to continue on outside. “How's your head this morning, lass?”

  “Agnes has just the right touch, Lord Hugh,” she responded with a bright smile. “I nearly slept this beautiful morning away.”

  The grizzled warlord stopped before them, pinching Ellen's cheek and putting a sausage-like finger into Kit's little fist.

  “Did you eat anything?” he said, turning again to Celia and taking her arm. “I'm always hungry after a good fight, and I'm sure we can rustle up something for you to eat in the South Hall.”

  “Aye, m'lord.” Celia laughed. “I ate. We just thought we'd go out into the courtyard and enjoy this sun while we have it.”

  “Trust me, child, you do not want to go out there,” Hugh said, stopping in his tracks. “I was out there earlier, and Colin has the whole place in an uproar. You'd think that low life Argyll was knocking on our front gate.”

  “Oh,” Celia said. “I suppose we shouldn't get in the way.”

  Hugh thought a moment, then brightened abruptly.

  “I've an idea, lassie.” Hugh smiled, directing Celia toward the far side of the hall. “There's a part of this castle I haven't seen in nearly twenty-five years, but I think it's time I—”

  “The garden with the cherry trees, m'lord?”

  Hugh stopped and cast a surprised glance at the young woman.

  “The cherry tr...” he started. “So! Colin showed you his mother's garden.”

  “Aye, Lord Hugh, he did,” Celia responded uncertainly. “I hope that's all right. I never intended to intrude.”

  “Intrude? Nonsense!” he boomed, his eyes sparkling. “I didn't know the boy had such good sense. Come on, it's time I saw those trees again.”

  Hugh led them out through the old corridors of the castle and through the library onto the garden's stone terrace. The shocked look on the guard who jumped aside for Lord Hugh attested to the chief's long absence from this portion of the building grounds.

  Celia stood back and watched Hugh's expression as he stood looking out at the garden. The four trees were ablaze with color from the delicate pink and white flowers. His eyes reflected the sparkling brilliance of the sunlight as it danced on the blue waves of the water beyond the garden walls, and Celia knew that memories of a beloved woman were flooding back over years of separation.

  “These trees have certainly grown since the last time I looked at them,” Lord Hugh rumbled softly. They all stood silently for a moment while he took in the entire scene—the formal design, the fountain in the center, the wildly untended arbors and flower beds. His eyes traveled to the now weed-grown turf bench on the outside wall that had been a favorite of his wife's. She had spent many an afternoon sitting there reading to Colin the fables of Robert Henryson and French tales of knights and their ladies. Meanwhile, around them, the workers had roughed out the garden's design.

  “I'm sorry,” Celia whispered, putting a hand on Hugh's elbow as Ellen took Kit down the steps into the area protected from the wind by the walls. “I didn't mean to put you through this.”

  “Hush, Celia,” Hugh growled gently. “It was high time I came out here. And I cannot think of a better person to come out here with.”

  “Thank you, m'lord.” She blushed. She looked out at the sight before them. “The design of the garden is incredibly beautiful.”

  “Aye,” he replied, “Colin's mother was an amazing woman.”

  Lord Hugh motioned Celia down the steps and the two walked side by side along the leaf-strewn paths between the clumps of yellowed grass and overgrown tangles of briers that Celia assumed must have been roses.

  “When Colin's mother died,” the chieftain continued, pausing thoughtfully between his sentences as he recalled the years, “I closed off the garden. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to come out here, and I couldn't bear the thought of anyone else coming out here. `For some reason'...that's not exactly true. I know the reason. I didn't want anyone else here in this garden that was so much a part of her. Sitting where she had sat. Walking where she had walked.”

  Hugh walked to the circular fountain in the center and put one foot up on the stone retaining wall.

  “This was her garden. She loved it. She loved planning it, working in it, enjoying it...sharing it. And I loved her...love her...I still do. I couldn't bear to think of this place changing, growing, becoming different. Oh, I know it had to change—but I didn't want to see it happen.” He paused, gazing at Ellen playing with Kit by the terrace steps. “I know Colin continued to come out here, and I never tried to stop him. It is a kind of refuge for him, I suppose. It is a place of good memories.”

  Hugh looked at the young woman standing quietly beside him. Celia had the same quiet reserve of strength, the same intelligence, the same sense of her own identity that his own Constance had. Colin would be a fool to let this one get away. But somehow Hugh didn't think that was going to happen.

  “There is something you ought to know about the Campbells, lass. We may be tough, miserable brigands, but when we love a woman, it's for ever. If you'll pardon an old man's pride here, it's like finding the woman who's been fated for us. Chosen, I suppose. Destined. And when we find her, we know that this woman is our match, our chosen, our anointed...for life.”

  Celia's gaze rested on the colors of the tree in the far corner of the garden. How wonderful it must be, she thought, to love and be loved so much. Unconsciously her hand went to the medallion that hung outside her gown, to the only physical reminder she had of the loving relationship her parents had. Celia had often thought of their love in terms such as those that Lord Hugh had spoken of. Even after so many years had passed, her father had called for Celia's mother before he died. He had cherished her memory, and had always told Celia of her goodness, of her strength, of her beauty.

  “I know your father felt that way about your mother,” Hugh said.

  “You mentioned last night that you knew my father,” Celia questioned.

  “Aye, I did,” Hugh responded wryly. “We had some...well, business dealings together.”

  “Did you?” Celia replied with surprise. “I do not ever remember coming to Kildalton Castle. That must have been before I traveled with him.”

  “Probably so,” Hugh went on. “Edmund brought us together about fifteen years ago, I'd guess.”

  “I was traveling with him then.”

  “A mere bairn?” Hugh laughed. “Traveling with a bunch of pirates? John Muir must have really distrusted that York family of his.”

  “Why do you say `pirates'?” Celia shot indignantly. “They were fine sailors.”

  “Aye, lass,” Hugh agreed, eyeing her searchingly. “Aside from my men, John Muir had assembled the finest sailors a pirate chief could hope for.”

  “No,” she began. “My father was a fine man, a respected merchant. He was no...”

  Celia stared at the calm face of the giant, and suddenly things started to make sense. In all the years she had sailed with her father, his ships had never been attacked, even when they had sailed in what the sailors had called “dangerous waters.” But they had always smiled at each other over her head when they said things like that. They had never seemed frightened, even when they heard, as they so often did, the guns of sea battles in the distance, and later found unmanned, disabled Spanish ships, their cargo holds full of booty her father told her the Spaniards had stolen in the New World.

  How blind can a child be? she thought. We were simply picking up the loot that his other ships had captured. Now she knew why her father's name was so well known. He was no merchant. He was a thief. Respected? He was feared.

 
“...thief,” she finished in shock. “My father was a common thief.”

  “No thief he was, lass,” Hugh rumbled, taking her hand in his. “Nor was he common, either. He was an honorable man. A pirate? Aye. And for a long while he served with a nod from old King Henry VII. But in those days, the line between pirate and what the lawyers are now calling `privateer' was fairly indistinct. There were just a few of us in that business then. Alec Macpherson's father was my partner in it. We kept the Irish Sea clear and took profits from those whom our kings disliked at the time. But you were so young. It's only natural that your father never told you anything about that side of his life. You shouldn't think ill of him for protecting you as well as he could.”

  Celia paused before answering him.

  “I loved my father, and I know he loved me. We were as close as any father and child could be. But that side of his life...I was a part of it, and I never saw it. Never suspected it. Suddenly I feel like there's so much I do not know about my family, about my life.”

  Hugh sat down on the fountain wall and pulled Celia down beside him.

  “Let me tell you how it all started. You probably do know a lot of this, but let me clear up your perception of your father. Let me tell you the truth about your family. What the world knows. What you should know.’

  “Your father was the second son in a branch of the York family that was beaten, reconciled, and then beaten again when Henry Tudor took the English crown from old hunchbacked Yorkist King Richard. When Henry became king, he had no money, and the York family continued to be a thorn in his side. To make matters worse, the Spaniards and the French were harrying the English coastline mercilessly.

  “Being the second son in a family who were now political outsiders, John Muir had very little interest in just sitting back and living off the wealth of his ancestors. So, your father went to the new king and offered his services keeping the Spaniards and the French out of English waters, and King Henry gladly gave him a license to do it. It made sense. Henry got one of the Yorks fighting for him rather than against him. And it gave your father a chance to make his own way in the world.