A Highlander’s Love: Highlands Ever After Page 12

  No matter where he turned, no matter what he considered, it was no use. He might as well have fought the rushing tide for all the good it did to attempt reasoning his way out of this.

  Colin allowed him to think in peace, at least—or so Dougal imagined before looking upon the man. He found the sheriff deep in thought as well, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. He tapped his fingers upon his thigh, mouth pursed.

  Curiosity compelled him to speak. “What is it ye are thinking?”

  Colin lifted a shoulder, eyes trained on the warrant which lay between them. “Ye might still get away,” he muttered from the corner of his mouth. “Though not as Alasdair did, mind ye.”

  “I dinna think—”

  Colin held up one hand, still staring at the paper. “I must think this through. Ye canna remain here for long, that much is clear. Ye are too well known.”

  “Aye,” Dougal muttered. As if he had not already considered this.

  “And ye canna remain in Scotland, to put it plainly. There is too much danger here for ye to ever rest easily. Ye would ever watch over one shoulder, and I would not have ye live in such a manner for the rest of your days.”

  “I thank ye,” Dougal snorted.

  Colin met his gaze, eyes dark. “I endeavor to be of aid to ye. Dinna take such a tone, man.”

  There were few in the world who might cause Dougal to regret his flippancy. Colin was one of them. “I beg your pardon,” he murmured, chastised. “I know not what is to be done.”

  “Perhaps I do.” Colin’s forehead smoothed, his countenance lightening. “Ye might sail for the colonies.”

  It was a moment before Dougal understood what the man meant. “The colonies? The new world?”

  “The verra same. It would be a perfect refuge, man. There is endless space there, land as far as the eye can see from what I understand. I wonder I did not consider it before now.”

  The colonies. For a moment, this seemed the perfect solution, and Dougal could not help but hope as the notion sank in. There would be endless opportunity to hide himself once he’d arrived, and he need never share his true name with anyone he met. He might start anew.

  “As a subject of the English,” he muttered, completing his thought.

  Colin did not ask what this meant. “It might not be for long,” he reasoned. “I hear there is unrest between the colonists and the crown.”

  “Aye, I have heard the same.” And many was the cup of wine he’d raised in a toast to any and all devilry the colonists could inflict upon their English overlords.

  “What of it, then? Ye might settle affairs here and set sail from Edinburgh. I trust ye would be able to move about without being noticed. Dinna tell me ye have ne’er done it before.”

  “I have,” Dougal admitted. Recently, at that, upon his return to his family home.

  “This is the only means by which ye might save your life,” Colin surmised. “Ye must know it. The English soldiers will like as not ne’er know ye had escaped. There are ever so many for them to hunt down, after all.”

  Hunt down. Hardly a pleasant thought.

  Then, another worry occurred to him. “What of yourself?”

  “Myself?”

  “And Iona, as well,” Dougal added. “What of danger to the pair of ye, knowing I have taken my leave?” He did not waste the time it would take to extract a promise of silence, for he understood well enough the intimacies between a husband and wife. He need not take a wife of his own to understand the secrets married people shared.

  “Ye need not worry over that,” Colin promised. “No one shall be more distressed than I at your escape, and as for Iona… let us be honest with each other. No one would think to question a mere woman.” He rolled his eyes at this, scoffing to express his opinion on the matter.

  He leaned in, eyes hard. “None need know but Iona and myself. Ye would be free, man. Ye must do it, and soon. Before others come in search of it.” He touched the side of his head, looking at Dougal’s bandages. “They might not miss ye when next they decide to open fire.”

  Dougal said nothing of this, his thoughts on Tyra. Always on Tyra. What would become of her? She’d lived beneath his roof—would the English know this? Would they question her as they’d questioned poor, blind Beitris Macintyre?

  He could not allow it. There had to be a way to protect her before seeing to his own safety. “I cannot do it. Not yet,” he added when Colin protested. “There are other matters I must see to. I cannot simply run, as a coward would.”

  Colin stood, all but snarling. “If ye canna help yourself, there is nothing I can do for ye.” He strode from the room, muttering curses all the way. Dougal did not endeavor to stop him or to explain himself, for he was not certain he could make sense of his conflicting feelings if he tried.

  Whatever he did, Tyra had to be first on his mind. She was all that mattered, truly, more so even than his life. For what good was his life without her in it?

  20

  It was not until supper that evening that Tyra knew something was amiss. Something more than what she’d already been aware of.

  The house seemed quieter even than usual. The dogs were skittish, whining when she approached to stroke their heads and scratch behind their ears. “Do you no longer like me?” she asked, crouching before Royal. “I thought we’d come so far, you and I.”

  When Dougal failed to join them for supper, she turned to Enid. “Where is he?”

  For the first time in their acquaintance, Enid appeared to avoid Tyra’s direct gaze. He has gone away for a short time, she gestured.

  “He has done what, now?” Good thing the cook could not hear her, for Tyra screamed at the top of her lungs. “Where? Why has he gone? What is he about?” Why had he not taken the time to explain himself?

  There was no eating once she’d learned of this, her stomach churning at the thought of what might befall him. “He did not think to tell me,” she said, pushing the bowl of hot soup away from her. “Why would he not tell me? Have I not earned his trust by now? Surely, after all we’ve seen together, he must believe he can trust me. Why does he not?”

  Enid merely moved the bowl across the table until it was before Tyra once again. Eat, she insisted.

  “Not until I know where Dougal has gone. Did he tell you?” Again, Enid refused to meet her gaze. Not until Tyra slapped her hands against the table, sending soup splashing over the side of her bowl, did Enid look up from her own supper.

  I promised, Enid shrugged. He is well, and safe, and will return soon.

  “How soon?” Tyra asked. Another shrug.

  This was too much to be borne. She rose, waving off Enid’s protestations. “I cannot eat. I am to upset.” She turned and fled the room, unable to converse any longer. There was too much to be said and Enid would not understand all of it, for she was not aware of Tyra’s feelings.

  Even Tyra had to laugh at this thought the moment it occurred to her. Of course, the woman knew. Anyone with eyes could likely see what Tyra struggled with. How deeply she loved the man, in spite of the manner in which he infuriated her at every turn.

  The door to the study was closed. She paused before it. Should she? There might be something inside which could grant insight. “Besides,” she whispered, opening the door, “if he wished to stop me from looking about the place, he might have thought to tell me where he was going.”

  The room was dark, silent. Tyra told herself it was merely her guilty conscience which brought about the rather ominous feeling which swept over her upon her entrance. She held her skirts flat to her sides for fear of them brushing up against a stack of books and knocking them asunder.

  What had Dougal discussed with Colin in this room? Something serious enough that they’d felt it necessary to close the door against her. How she’d longed to kick the door and scream at them, how she’d longed to remind them of being mere men, no matter how important or intelligent they believed themselves. They were merely men.

  Instead, she’d fled to her b
edchamber, knowing that should she fight and rail against them she might just as easily burst into hot, furious tears. That would have done no good.

  Why had Colin come? To what end? His visit had been rather secretive, his presence a surprise to Tyra when she’d discovered it. It seemed they’d both endeavored to keep the call private, to avoid notice.

  Why? Colin was a friend, even she was aware of this. What could he have brought—

  It took little time for Tyra to understand. Her hand fell upon a folded paper near the top of a pile of what appeared to be very important papers, all of them containing Dougal’s signature. But it was the folded paper which captured her attention, for it was of a different thickness than the others. Rather worn, as if it had been carried in a pack or cloak pocket. She slid it from beneath the other papers and unfolded it with care.

  As had been the case the first time she’d searched the study, what she found caused Tyra to fall into the nearest chair.

  A warrant for Dougal’s arrest.

  Little wonder he’d wished to remain alone with Colin, who had been kind enough to deliver the warrant himself. Like as not as a warning, that Dougal might be better able to get away before being captured.

  That was why the strangers shot at him. That was why they’d searched even in the midst of a driving storm. To capture him, to bring him to the authorities and collect a reward.

  Her hands trembled hard enough to blur the words on the page before her, though she no longer needed to read the warrant. She understood well enough now. He’d been accused of treason.

  Of course. His involvement with Charles Stuart. Anyone in league with Bonnie Prince Charlie was considered an enemy—so that letter had not merely been result of a deluded mind. Dougal truly did know him, or at the very least had been involved with the Jacobites.

  There was more to it. Anyone found aiding Dougal was to be arrested, as well.

  What had he done? How could he possibly be free of this? Without his presence in the house, there was no means of her learning the answers to these questions.

  Then, she laughed aloud. He would not tell her even if she asked straightaway. She ought to know that by now. She might wave the warrant before him, a sign that she was aware of the grave danger he was in, and still he would refuse to be honest.

  Someone must know the full truth of it. Tyra would not sleep until she knew.

  It occurred to her in a flash, sending her bolting up from the chair and out of the house. Iona had left behind one of the two horses she and Dougal had ridden from her home. Tyra had visited the mare often, tending to her, seeing she was fed and watered.

  No one who stopped her along the way to Iona’s home would think to connect her to Dougal. No one save Iona and Colin had ever seen her here. She rode with confidence, then, remembering Iona’s instructions.

  For Iona was a wise woman. She must have sensed there would come a time when Tyra would need her, and as such she’d described the simplest way to ride to the estate. It was already growing dark, but that was no matter. This was too important to wait until morning to settle.

  By the time she reached the house—a charming place, even in the moonlight—there was a candle burning in the kitchen window, and the glow of a fire inside. Was it too late to call upon the women inside?

  The answer to this unspoken question came in the form of a flung-open kitchen door. “Who goes there?” Iona demanded from the doorway. Tyra took note of what appeared to be a pistol in her hand.

  “Only myself,” she called out, dismounting. “I had to see you and could not wait until morning.”

  “Tyra? What has happened?” In a flash, the pistol was forgotten as Iona extended her arms. “Come inside. Have you eaten? Would you like tea?”

  “Tea would be lovely.” Though she did not wish for tea, not truly, but it seemed the right thing to say.

  “Sit.” Iona all but pushed her into a chair in the pleasant, tidy kitchen. “Janet has already gone to sleep. I’d planned to do the same shortly.”

  “It is a blessing I arrived when I did, then, or I might have thrown stones at the upstairs windows until one of you awoke.” A weak attempt at humor, but Iona favored her with a slight smile, nonetheless.

  “I would expect nothing less from you. Now. Tell me why you have come. Is it something to do with Dougal?” She fetched a kettle from a hook and filled it with water from a bucket near the door.

  Tyra studied her friend’s bent form, watching as she went about the work of setting the kettle over the fire to boil, adding wood to the fire that it might heat the water more quickly. How much did Iona know of what had taken place? Had Colin told her?

  She decided to behave as though he had. “Dougal is to be arrested.”

  There was not so much as a flinch from Iona, who turned to Tyra wearing an expression of sympathy. “There is a warrant for his arrest. I know.”

  “He did not wish for me to know,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. Now that she was with the only person who truly knew her, now that she’d spent the entire ride to Iona’s turning the problem over in her head, it was safe for her to cry.

  Iona sank to her knees, enfolding Tyra in an embrace. “He only wishes to keep you away from his troubles. He does not wish to involve you, that you might be unaware. Safe.”

  “You know of it.” Tyra pulled back, glaring at her friend. “Why is it that you are allowed to know, but I am not?”

  “I have never lived beneath the man’s roof, for one. I can easily tell any who would listen that Colin does not share these matters with me. As we are not yet wed, this is a reasonable excuse, and there is little cause for anyone to insist on questioning me further.” She’d thought the matter out, then.

  “I live in secret,” Tyra reminded her. “No one is aware of my presence.”

  “Dear.” Iona’s hands were cool against her flushed cheeks when she took Tyra’s face in her hands. “He wishes to protect you. He does not wish for you to be involved. If you know he is wanted, you must know that any and all who are involved with him shall be arrested as well. He wishes to be certain that will not happen to you. He does this because he cares for you, not out of malice.”

  “Why is he wanted? Has Colin explained it to you?”

  “He would be furious if I said it. Your safety is important to me, as well.”

  “He is a Jacobite,” Tyra whispered. Even speaking it aloud between the two of them sent a sick shiver down her spine. The word itself carried such danger.

  Iona sighed. “He funds them, yes.”

  “Little wonder.”

  Iona did not ask what this meant. Perhaps it was safer for them both. “That is all I know, I swear it.” The kettle began to steam, and Iona rose to take it from the fire.

  Tyra sat quietly and considered the problem before her. Dougal was in danger, far worse than anything she’d imagined until now. He might easily be arrested before he returned to her—if he intended to ever do so.

  “He is gone.” The words fell like lead at Tyra’s feet. “I know not where he went, nor when he shall return. What if he never does?”

  Iona sat beside her, the pot of tea between them. “If he never does, Colin will receive word of his arrest—if that is the case, and he was arrested. Naturally, one of us would tell you at the earliest opportunity.”

  “What if he is not arrested? What if he is killed?” She could scarcely speak the word aloud. Her throat closed at the very thought.

  Iona was not so quick to answer this question. When she did, her voice was low, tinged with sadness. “Then you will come to live with me, as we’d intended, and we will all be sorry to know what befell him. But you will still be out of harm’s way, which is what he wants more than anything. Only to keep you away from this.”

  Tyra’s heart softened even as she sighed, her exasperation too much to bear silently. “What a fool he is. I knew men were fools, but never that they could fall so low. I am already involved, simply because I care for him! I could never con
sider myself outside his troubles. They are my troubles, too.”

  “I wish I could say I feel glad, knowing you’ve come to care for him so deeply,” Iona admitted. “It is clear he cares a great deal for you, as well. I wish I could be happy for you, but I am too fearful for that.”

  Tyra wished the same.

  21

  Never would Dougal have imagined riding to his home under the cover of darkness twice in less than six months’ time.

  There was full moon, though to his relief there were enough clouds to conceal his progress more often than not. It had been three days since he’d left for the solicitor’s in hopes of settling matters, with travel going slowly in both directions.

  A man traveled much more slowly when he knew there was a price on his head. But he simply could not move forward with a plan without making certain Enid would be taken care of in his absence.

  Whether that absence be the result of arrest, murder or anything else.

  It was one thing for a man to flee a perceived threat. It was another to know for certain there were threats everywhere, waiting for a wanted man to appear so they might end his life.

  When the house came into view, its familiar chimneys and peaked roof like the answer to a prayer, he put on speed in hopes of crossing the last stretch of open land before the clouds rolled through and revealed him to any who might be watching.

  Only when he’d reached the stables was he able to breathe easy, and even then there was always an eye trained on the shadows. He doubted the horse would have walked straight into the building were there an enemy hiding in the corner, but it did not hurt to take care.

  After several minutes of silence, he dared step foot outside the stables. Moments later he slipped into the house through the kitchen door, then leaned against once he was inside, his breathing heavy.

  He’d done it. Not until that moment, inside his darkened kitchen, did Dougal understand how worried he’d been. Not merely for himself, but for the woman he’d left behind.