The Thistle and the Rose Read online

  “There was a change of plans, m'lord,” Celia responded evasively.

  Colin led Celia to his place at the table and sat beside her. Sitting, Ambrose leaned forward to address Celia.

  “M'lady, I was just telling these good gentlemen news of someone you have had some unpleasant dealings with, I believe.”

  “You've met Danvers, Celia?” Alec asked, craning his neck to see her face.

  “Aye, Alec,” she said quietly. “Unfortunately, I have.”

  “Indeed, she has,” Ambrose said with admiration. “I was a witness to one meeting they had.”

  Ambrose turned to Lord Hugh. “M'lord, if I may. During one of the king's tournaments at Stirling—two years ago, I think it was—this English devil Danvers came to our court, supposedly representing the new English king at the festivities.”

  Celia's back stiffened at the words. She knew this story all too well, and was not entirely happy about hearing it again here and now. She would be happy if she never heard Danvers's name again. She smiled gratefully at Colin as he reached onto her lap and took her hand.

  “During the competition,” Ambrose continued, “Danvers beat the earl of Huntly's younger brother.”

  “Aye,” Lord Hugh interrupted. “I recall hearing about this. Instead of accepting the unarmed lad's word of yield, the English dog beat him badly with his truncheon. He almost died of his injuries, didn't he?”

  “Aye, Hugh,” Edmund said. “But he recovered, and he's a much better fighter now that he's grown...and experienced.”

  “After the beating,” Ambrose went on, “the pig Danvers yanked the steel-mesh glove off the bleeding and unconscious warrior and gave him a vicious, unmanly kick. Then he mounted and rode to the grandstand where Queen Margaret was sitting with the king and with her entourage. He went directly before the queen and asked if he could present the token to his own `lady.'“

  Colin felt Celia quiver with what appeared to be rage as she stared directly at the place before her.

  “The spectators were all quiet, disgusted and ashamed at his conduct on the field, and curious to know who his lady might be. Receiving a nod from the queen, Danvers dismounted and climbed into the seats, stopping in front of Lady Muir, offering the glove as token.”

  Ambrose stopped his tale a moment, just long enough to drink from the cup by his plate. The South Hall was in total silence, as everyone awaited his next word.

  “Danvers stood there for what seemed like an eternity. The crowd's attention was riveted on them. Then Lady Muir stood up, took the glove from his hand, and whipped him across the face so hard that blood ran down his cheek and dripped from his chin like rain from a gargoyle. She spat into his stunned face and turned on her heel, leaving Danvers before a chuckling king and a wildly cheering crowd.”

  From the hushed onlookers in the hall at Kildalton there suddenly erupted a great cheer for the woman sitting red-faced beside their young laird. Before the noise subsided, Celia was surrounded by the Campbell fighters and the household members, all congratulating her as though the event had just occurred.

  Celia looked up at Colin, stunned at the spontaneous response from his people. The gaze that he met her with was one of intense pride, and a sense of relief and joy washed over her.

  A short time later the hall began to empty, the fighters still animated at the story Ambrose had told. Several groups of the clan council entered the hall, and as tables were being cleared, Celia and the others stood in clusters in the open space between the tables.

  “Colin,” Celia said quietly, taking him aside. “Would you mind if I worked out in your garden this morning?”

  “It's our garden, now, Celia,” Colin answered in a low voice.

  “Will you be able to join me there for a few moments?” Celia still wanted to talk to Colin. She still needed to share her last secret with him.

  “Join you? What did you have in mind for me, Lady Muir?” Colin asked suggestively.

  “Stop it,” she responded, blushing. “Really, you do have a one-track mind.”

  “And it hasn't crossed your mind this morning?” Colin asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Aye, Colin, it has,” Celia replied, gazing steadily into his eyes.

  Colin felt a pang of desire for this woman stir in his loins. He knew in his heart that he could get lost in the crystalline blackness of Celia's eyes. He wanted her, now and forever.

  “If you're not in too big a hurry to get outside,” Colin began mischievously. “I think we have a few moments to...to discuss gardening plans...in my room.”

  Before Celia could answer, Ambrose and Alec came up beside her.

  “Lady Celia,” the younger Macpherson said. “You do not know how delighted I am finally to have gotten the opportunity to meet you. Along with the rest of your admirers, I was heartily saddened when I heard that you left court for Engl—”

  “Ahem!” Alec interrupted, in an attempt to save his brother's good standing with the Campbells. “Not to slight your good opinion of Lady Muir, Ambrose, but I'm sure I've heard you proclaim your admiration for other—”

  “But none like Lady Celia, Alec,” Ambrose protested. “I've always...”

  Ambrose stopped short as Colin moved closer to Celia and took her hand in his. The fierce scowl that he saw in the giant warrior's face spoke volumes, and the younger Macpherson realized that he was treading on very dangerous ground.

  “...I've always...thought Lady Muir the finest sailor I've ever lost to.”

  Celia glanced up at Colin's face and nearly laughed aloud.

  “She's not only a great sailor, Ambrose,” Alec continued, trying to steer the conversation. “She's also incredibly knowledgeable about healing. She could probably cure leprosy. She’s cured my motion sickness!”

  “You aren't serious, Alec?” Ambrose asked uncertainly.

  “Aye,” Colin confirmed. “Since Celia gave him the remedy, Alec's been out on my boats more than he's been on land.”

  “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I've heard enough about my good deeds for one day, thank you.”

  Colin walked toward the doorway with her.

  “I'll join you after I meet with the clan council and Ambrose,” he promised. “I clearly cannot leave you alone too long with all these new rivals appearing.”

  “In the whole world, Colin,” Celia answered softly, “you have no rival.”

  Colin squeezed her hand gently, and she turned toward the door.

  The dew on the plants sparkled like jewels in the brilliant sunlight. As Celia explored the garden, looking more carefully at the overgrown plants and general neglect, she thought that a great deal could be accomplished with a sharp pruning knife and some hard work. It was just what she needed.

  Ellen and Kit stayed with her for a short while, and Runt even joined them there, moving back and forth between helping Celia with the brush she was clearing and chatting affectionately with Ellen.

  As Celia worked in one quadrant, she noticed that Runt was piling the brush by a hedge-like growth about halfway down the garden wall. Pulling back the hedge, she saw a small oaken door, heavily barred and moss-covered from disuse.

  “I thought we could take the brush out into the training grounds through there, m'lady,” Runt said, coming up behind Celia.

  “That's a good idea, Runt. I should have figured there'd be another entrance. Why don't we just clear this away and take it all out now?”

  “We need to ask Lord Hugh before unbarring the door, m'lady.”

  “Why, Runt? What's beyond the door?” Celia asked.

  “The small garden around the family crypt, m'lady,” he responded. “That's where Lord Colin's mother is buried.”

  Celia hadn't even thought up to now about the final resting place of Lady Campbell. Thinking about her now, Celia wished that she knew more about the woman. She was clearly venerated even now, twenty-five years after her death. And why shouldn't she be? Celia thought; she'd produced a family that was both strong and loving. In Colin,
Celia saw Hugh’s strength and courage, but there was also compassion, understanding, trust, and love.

  The sun was getting high overhead, and Celia could hear Kit beginning to fuss. Returning to Ellen, she asked Runt if he wouldn't mind accompanying them up to Ellen's room. Runt brightened visibly at the prospect.

  “I'll be along shortly,” Celia teased benignly.

  More than an hour later Celia was still hard at work. The sun and the effort had warmed her considerably, and she had rolled up her sleeves in a futile attempt to keep her dress clean. Her hands were scratched and filthy from the briers and the cold, wet soil. And her face and dress were mere reflections of her hands.

  But the garden was a different place. Straightening up and stretching her back, Celia looked proudly at the huge pile of brush that she had pruned from the rosebushes and the hedges. The flower beds in the quadrant where Ellen and Kit had played were also considerably neater. Even the small section of herbs that had once formed an intricate knot garden was beginning to take shape. But there was still so much more to do, and Celia was excited about doing it.

  Celia was looking at the cherry tree by the terrace, still brilliant in its vernal raiment of pink and white, when she saw Colin step out onto the terrace. She smiled brightly, taking a step toward him, but her smile froze on her lips when she saw the anger that clouded his features.

  She just stood there watching as he approached her. All the fears, all the insecurities that she had overcome since arriving here at Kildalton, all were revived in an instant. The look in Colin's eyes brought back the bleak, empty feeling that she'd lived with for so long.

  “You didn't tell me,” he growled accusingly. “Why didn't you tell me?”

  “Colin, I...” she began helplessly.

  Chapter 12

  He only told us because of the discontent. This is planting time, and still we are moving north. The grumbling is getting louder, and there are even whispers of mutiny. So the devil tells us. Get the baby, he tells us. Or get the woman. She will bring us the baby in exchange. And then we will go home. By the king's order, we will go home.

  But he will say anything, the devil.

  Ambrose had brought them news. Not only news of Danvers's and Argyll's combined efforts in the Highlands, but also news of a missing bairn. Ambrose had told them how the queen had been unable to produce the Crown Prince, a concern since no one outside of her household had even seen the bairn for over two months. Ambrose related that there were even rumors that the Queen had sent the prince to her brother in England. But there was no news from England that intimated in any way that the prince was there.

  All anyone knew for certain was that Huntly and the other nobles were negotiating a peace with the English king that would assure the Stewart prince's safety and sovereignty. But still, the actual whereabouts of the little prince was uncertain.

  But as soon as Colin heard Ambrose speak, he'd known where the bairn was. It hadn't been too difficult to piece together the events.

  “He's the Crown Prince,” Colin rasped through clenched teeth. “Isn't he?”

  His face was black with the fury raging just below the surface. Celia felt a squeezing pain in her heart as she watched the muscles in his jaw contracting over and over.

  “Aye, Colin,” Celia said steadily. “He is.”

  “Why didn't you tell me?” he shouted, taking her by the wrists.

  “I tried to tell you,” she pleaded. His grip was hurting her, but she was determined not to fight him. She had intended to tell him. He had every right to be angry.

  “Obviously, not hard enough,” Colin spat out, releasing her and turning from her. “Why did you bring him here, anyway?”

  “That wasn't what we planned...originally. Colin, let me—”

  “Then how did I become part of your scheme?” Colin interrupted, turning back to her, his anger only barely covering the pain in his eyes.

  “There was never any ‘scheme’ when it came to you, Colin,” she said in a quiet voice. His look hurt her.

  “You expect me to believe that after all the lies?” he responded with scorn in his voice. “From the moment you arrived here, you've been hiding things. Everything about you has been a mystery or a lie.”

  “You must believe what your heart tells you to believe,” she said, knowing her pain and disbelief were evident in her face.

  “You talk about my heart,” Colin shot back furiously. “You used me. You used my family and my people for your own mercenary ends.”

  So, this is what it comes down to, Celia thought. Mercenary. Like father, like daughter. This is what he thinks of her. Of her father.

  “I never have,” Celia answered, her voice steely. “But I assure you, I'll not risk using you again.”

  Celia stormed past the furious laird, but was stopped and whipped around by his fierce grip on her arm.

  “You aren't going anywhere until I know who's paying you for your...services,” he sneered.

  The violence of Colin's words stunned her, and Celia's face took a moment to register the impact of his insinuation. Then rage colored her face as it surged through her. Celia's free hand shot out, and she slapped him hard across the face.

  “You pig!” she spat, tears streaming from her eyes. “And I thought you were different. I'm not for sale, and I'm no mercenary. And I did not abduct the prince for any ransom.”

  Celia wrenched her arm from Colin's grip and started for the terrace. Before she reached the steps, though, Colin overtook her and spun her around to face him.

  This time, however, Celia's knife flashed menacingly in the space between them and Colin quickly released her arm. Then, pretending to ignore the weapon, he looked directly into her tearstained face.

  “If you're no mercenary, then who's behind this?” he asked, suddenly feeling unsure about what he'd done, about what he'd said. But she hadn't trusted him. Why? What was this game she was playing?

  “Who's behind this? The earl of Huntly and every one of your damned nobles who's remained loyal to the Scottish Crown,” she snapped. Her body was shaking with anger.

  It was Colin's turn to be stunned. Watching him, Celia wanted to run, to get away from his cold gray eyes. But her body would not move from the spot. Celia knew if she ran now, that would be the end. There would be no other time for explaining. The hate, the hurt, would replace everything else. She couldn't let that happen. She loved him.

  “You mean, Huntly had you steal the prince from his mother the queen?” The magnitude of the action was difficult to fathom. Was this treason? Or was this patriotism?

  “We didn't steal Kit, we saved him. Queen Margaret was planning to send him to England for a `proper education' in the hands of her brother, King Henry.”

  Celia paused for a moment, looking into the face looming above her. It was not the same angry face she had confronted just a few moments earlier. She did not resist when Colin reached down and gently took the knife from her hand. Her body still shook with the anger and hurt that was running through her.

  “You know what that means...proper education,” she continued. “He'd be imprisoned for his whole life...however long that might be. And I was being sent along to accompany him. Kit to prison. Me to Danvers.”

  Celia stared straight ahead, a keen sense of loss tormenting her soul. Inwardly, she mourned. Colin's words rang in her ears. She'd betrayed him. He would not forgive.

  Two gulls wheeled in the sun beyond the walls, diving at each other in a dance of airy circles.

  Colin, too, stood steeped in misery. Why had he been such a fool? Why did he have to think the worst? After hearing of all her admirers, of her fame, of her independence as a woman, an insecurity had crept in, driving his thinking, his emotions. When he'd heard the news from Ambrose, he had made a snap judgment. He'd been searching for a reason why this beautiful woman had chosen him over all others. And then, foolishly, Ambrose's words had brought that reason to him. Aye, she'd just looked for his protection, his name, until her ends
were served.

  But how wrong he'd been. She was willing to gamble everything—her life, her happiness, her future—to secure the future of the Crown, to secure the future of Scotland. She was willing to die to save the life of a bairn men were bent on destroying.

  Colin reached out and took her hand in his. She did not resist his touch.

  “Celia,” he began gently. “Why didn't you trust me?”

  “Colin, I have trusted you from the first day I met you. But I was not able to reveal the truth. I was under oath, but I knew that Kit was safe here. I just never thought they would find us here. I never intended for Runt or anyone else to be hurt.”

  “You couldn't know that Danvers's spies were everywhere. And Runt will heal. But don't you think I should have known that the Crown Prince of Scotland was here in my home? Under my protection?”

  “Colin, it wouldn't matter,” Celia replied, looking up into his concerned gray eyes. “I know you better than you think. If Kit were the last-born bairn of the lowliest peasant in Scotland, you would have protected him as a king...as your own.”

  Colin smiled at Celia and wrapped her tightly into his arms.

  “You do know me, Celia,” he said, gathering her even closer against him.

  “Aye, Colin Campbell,” she responded. “And now I know another side of you, as well.”

  “We never stop growing, love,” Colin said thoughtfully. “We never stop learning.”

  “You were cruel to me, Colin,” Celia whispered, her face against his chest.

  “You wouldn't confide in me,” he countered painfully, knowing that his words had really hurt her.

  “That's true, and it crushed me inside, knowing that you'd see that as a betrayal of you,” she answered, her eyes again welling up at the thought of it all.