The Highlander’s Dilemma Read online

  “Still,” Leona said insistently. “You should have some of our fine loaves. I shall ask Madame Blois to have them sent out to your wagon.”

  “That is very kind, child,” he said gravely.

  “It is nothing.”

  “My equipage is behind the stables, I believe,” the priest added, a wry smile on his face. “I think His Lordship wished to hide it from visitors, lest they think he owned it himself. It is a sorry-looking thing.”

  Leona did laugh, then. “That's almost certainly true. Imagine the scandal!”

  The two of them smiled at each other, co-conspirators in teasing her uncle.

  “I'll have that cloth taken down to the wagon,” the priest said, walking down the steps ahead of Leona. “Thank you for your assistance. It is most suitable fabric.”

  “I'll send Ferriers down with the roll,” Leona offered. Ferriers was the head footman. If she could accompany him down, it would give her a good chance to view the cart and make her plans.

  “Thank you, my lady. That's very kind.”

  No it isn't. If you knew what I planned, you'd be shocked. She smiled distractedly. “Not at all.”

  In the hallway downstairs, she said her farewells to the priest and hurried through to the kitchen to find Ferriers. He was at the table in the kitchen, eating a brioche.

  Mrs. Blois, the cook, looked up sharply as she entered, almost dropping the dough she kneaded on the floor. “Milady!”

  “Ferriers?” Leona asked quickly. “If you could come to the attic? I need to fetch down a bolt of cloth.”

  “Of course, milady.”

  Tall and quite handsome, he pushed his chair back and followed Leona up the steps. Leona smiled to herself. If Allie has managed to ensnare him, she will do well. Leaving her maidservant behind to such a pleasant fate was no bad deed.

  Ferriers carried the cloth out behind the stables, Leona keeping up briskly. There, they found a canvas-covered cart.

  “This is the priest's wagon, milady.”

  Leona bit her lip, trying not to smile. She understood now why her uncle had hidden it around the back. It was a disgraceful thing, covered in patched sailcloth, the boards cracking for want of oiling.

  “Thank you, Ferriers.”

  Standing behind him, she tried as unobtrusively as she could to look over his shoulder as he opened the back and packed the cart. Planning was essential and first of all she needed to know where she could hide.

  The cart was fairly packed below the canvas, full of bags of grain, bolts of material, some farming equipment. Evidently, the priest accepted donations from all walks of life. It would, she decided, be easy to hide somewhere in there.

  Whew! Her heart pounded and her fingers tingled with nervous anticipation.

  “All done, milady,” Ferriers said, looking at her with much the same bemusement as the priest had shown when she asked so many questions about his journey.

  “Good, Ferriers,” she said briskly. “And if you could ask Madame Blois to have six loaves sent out; say at six of the clock?”

  “Very good, milady. Though I believe he intends to depart at sun-up.”

  Thank Heavens I asked! “Make it five, then.”

  “Very good, milady.”

  Leona nodded and walked inside as fast as she could. Up in her bedchamber, she sat on the bed, heart pounding. It was almost dusk now, and she had so much to plan.

  She would escape downstairs through the side door. It was in a part of the manor that was almost never used; closed off for renovations and not finished yet. Leona had discovered the door by accident when exploring the gardens. It was a perfect route, if she could open it.

  I'll go now to check that it opens smoothly. I can waste no time.

  She tiptoed from the room and down the stairs, feeling a shiver down her spine as she crossed into the neglected section of the manor. It was moist and cool, the air smelling of mortar and brick dust, the steps she took echoing up to the roof and back. This is an eerie place.

  The door was around a corner about twenty paces down. She tried the handle. It was easy to unlock from this side and, when she tested it, there was no sign of sticking or creaking, which was good. She closed it and tiptoed back to the main hallway. In the entryway, she heard voices. Heart pounding, she drew back into the shadows.

  Who is it?

  “...And it would be best if we had the contract drawn up soon.”

  “I shall ask Auvergne to do it at once, Lord Comte.”

  It was her uncle and the Comte! They were headed this way. Leona shrank back into a recess, praying that they wouldn't see her there.

  If they catch me prying about the castle, it will occur to them that I'm planning something.

  It was the worst possible moment for them to see her. She knew already that the Comte knew of her reluctance and, even now, suspected that she was not sincere in her wish to wed. All they needed was to discover her sneaking about to start suspecting her motives.

  “...We should meet again next week. Then we can sign this contract...” the Comte said loftily.

  “Indeed, my friend.”

  The two men crossed the entrance hall and went up the stairs together. Leona heard their boots on the stairs and slunk from her hiding place.

  At that moment, someone knocked on the front door.

  Both men turned on the stairs. Leona, halfway across the tiles, froze in place. They've seen me. I'm finished now.

  Dully, she stood there, waiting for the interrogation that would follow. The Comte looked at her uncle, eyes hooded. Her uncle cleared his throat, and then paused.

  Ferriers, who had been laying the table in the dining hall, appeared as if by magic. “Pardon, m y lord,” he said to the two men respectfully, and opened the front door. Leona, standing about ten paces away, could see nothing of the person standing on the doorstep, only a head of reddish hair.

  “Good evening,” Ferriers said formally. “You are an expected guest?”

  Leona, curiosity overwhelming, strained to hear the reply, ignoring the men on the stairs who must, by now, have noticed her. When it came, she froze. How could it be? How?

  “No, I'm not,” the man said bluntly. “My name's Lord McNeil. I know the lady of the house.”

  Leona felt her heart float away. Without thinking about it, she turned to the bemused Ferriers, who could not understand a word of Conn's Gaelic, and ran to the door.

  “Conn!” she cried. “You came!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MEETING AFTER MONTHS

  MEETING AFTER MONTHS

  Conn stood in the great hall. The ceiling soared above him. The floor under his feet was inlaid stone. The staircase wound up into the gloom over his head. Conn barely took in any of it. All he saw was her.

  “Leona!”

  He stared at her. Long red-blond hair loose down her back, clad in a gray gown that brought out the dark blue tones of her eyes, she looked like a splendid vision. And she was here! His Leona!

  “Conn!”

  She ran to him and threw her arms around him, making no attempt at courtesy. Thus captive, Conn smiled and held her tight against him, stroking her hair.

  “Leona. Leona! My dear.”

  He felt as if something in his heart had melted and he could not keep the grin off his face.

  Leona. You're here with me. At last.

  He breathed in the sweet rose-petal scent of her and knew he could not have been happier if he'd tried. It had taken two weeks to reach this place, but all those days melted away under the sun of his happiness. He was here. He was with her. They were safe.

  “Conn,” she said, tipping back her head and smiling into his eyes.

  He felt his heart lurch and his loins tighten as he noted the moist pinkness of her lips, her sweet grin. “Leona.” He growled the name, breathing it into her hair.

  Someone cleared his throat loudly. He looked up and saw a man. Stepped back.

  “Um...” he stuttered. He glanced at Leona, who had stepped
abruptly aside.

  “Oh!” she said, hands flying to her cheeks. “Uncle! Meet Conn. My um...my cousin.”

  “Oh.” The man was of middle height, with dark hair, olive-dark skin and big black eyes. The instant resemblance to Alina was striking. He, like her, had a particular disapproving glare. He used it now. With effect.

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” Conn managed humbly. “My condolences on your loss.”

  “Il demande pardon,” Leona said, dumbfounding him. “Il apporte condoleances.”

  “Oh,” the dark-haired man observed. He looked no more impressed.

  “What'd ye say?” Conn whispered to Leona.

  She turned round, shooting him a withering look. “I told him you asked for pardon and bring your condolences.”

  “Good,” Conn replied with much relief.

  The man still looked at him as if he had appeared in a puff of smoke, complete with what the fathers would describe as satanic horns and pitchfork. He cleared his throat, bowed low. “Lord Count, my greetings,” he said politely. “Apologies for my intrusion. I was over-eager to see my cousin.”

  Leona repeated the words, blushing when she said the part about the cousin. Though their mothers were distantly related, they were not cousins. That was not the reason for their connection. The man must wonder why cousins greeted with such evident passion.

  The man said some words in French, which Leona related in a whispered tone. “He offers you board for the night. He says a place is laid for you at dinner this night.”

  “Oh. Thank him kindly then.”

  Leona said some words and then told him to follow the tall man with the long face up the stairs. He was apparently the steward of the chief servant, for he led Conn wordlessly to the guest quarters.

  Conn looked around, feeling amazed. He had traveled from a less-than-salubrious ship, through towns and inns that grew shabbier as his cash dwindled. He had arrived in paradise. Leona was here, which made it so. He smiled, feeling amazed.

  “I should wash for dinner. That man hates me.” He chuckled to himself, sluicing his face in the bowl of water set out on the nightstand. It was refreshing – the heat had been oppressive on the ride out to the manor, and he was glad to be able to wash off the grime.

  I have succeeded in alienating Leona's uncle. Just what am I going to do about that?

  He sighed. All he could hope was that he could back out of the bad impression he had just made. He breathed in and grimaced.

  If I had some clothes that hadn't just been worn for three days, it might be easier.

  He smelled like the sea, sweat, and dust. Just as he opened the wardrobe, hoping against hope that a careless guest had left behind some clothes his size, he heard a noise outside the door. He paused, unaccountably nervous.

  “Yes?”

  “Conn,” an urgent whisper sounded through the wood. “It's me.”

  “Leona?” Conn ran to the door without thinking and opened it hastily.

  Leona fell in. “Conn!” she breathed. “Thank heavens you're here.”

  She looked quite wild and Conn felt instantly worried. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “It's them,” she said. “Him. The Count of Cleremont.”

  “Who?” Conn asked. She looked distressed and he took her hands in his, noting how cold they were.

  “You saw the man on the stairs?”

  Conn shook his head and she continued.

  “He's the man my uncle has been pressing me to wed.”

  “What?” Conn shouted. Leona winced and he lowered his voice, astounded. “But Leona! You...I...we...”

  “I know,” Leona hissed. “That's what I think. But Uncle...” she sighed. “He has great plans. And I am somehow central to them. I know,” she sighed, sitting down on the chair before a small desk. “I don't want this any more than you do. But I'm at his mercy here, more or less.”

  Conn felt a stab of anger in his chest. “What?” he hissed.

  “No, it's not like that,” Leona explained tiredly. “He's not cruel. He's anything but. That's the difficulty.”

  “Leona...”

  She was crying, face covered by her hands. Conn, heart twisting, went to her. He held her in his arms and she cried. “Leona, my love. Whist. My sweetling...” He whispered into her hair and held her tightly as she cried.

  At length, she hiccupped and sniffed, turning to him. “Oh, Conn,” she said. She gave him a small smile.

  They were sitting very close, his body pressed tightly against hers, her soft, warm presence leaning against him, held in the fastness of his arms. He could smell her – the woman-scent mixed with floral delicacy and spices. His blood surged. “Leona,” he whispered. He kissed her hair. “I love you.”

  “Oh, Conn.”

  She moved closer and her arms embraced him. They kissed.

  Conn felt every nerve of his body tingle as her soft, full-breasted body leaned against him. He tightened his grip and let his tongue slide between her lips, into the warm, clinging reaches of her mouth. She tasted so sweet, and the pillowed softness of her lips against his was amazing. His loins ached and he pressed her back lightly against the bed, a sense of urgency thrilling through him as she leaned back pliantly beneath him.

  I want her so much.

  “Leona,” he growled, kissing her throat. It was scented with roses, skin like porcelain. He licked it gently and she moaned. He could see the sweet rise of her breasts in the low-cut dress and he wanted to touch them.

  As he stroked the soft skin of her chest, she tensed, sitting up.

  Her hair was a warm cloud around her head, her eyes bright and intense. “No, Conn,” she whispered, hoarse and urgent as he felt. “We mustn't.”

  He sighed. Sat up. Put his hands beside him on the bed, clutching the coverlet to restrain his desire to hold her. “I know.”

  They sat quietly for a long while.

  Conn cleared his throat eventually. “We should have dinner, eh?”

  “It's at half an hour to eight,” Leona said softly. “We have half an hour more at least.”

  “Leona...” Conn choked.

  “I know, I know.” She sighed. “We should not stay. If I stay here with you, well...” Her voice tailed to nothing and her eyes looked into his, appealingly wide and innocent.

  He smiled. “Well, that's how I feel.”

  They laughed, a little shakily.

  “Conn,” Leona said after a long moment. “Could you...I must leave this place. Could we go?”

  “Lass,” Conn said raggedly. “Why else did I come?”

  She smiled. “To visit me?”

  Conn chuckled. Even without the happy accident, he would have come here sooner or later. He had to. “Well, yes. I had to see you again, Leona.” He felt his face stiffen with worry as he remembered the weeks without her. The nights of wondering where she was, the days that were dull without her smile and voice.

  “I am so glad,” Leona whispered, sidling up to him. “You have no idea how much you were missed.”

  “Nor you either!” Conn chuckled.

  “Oh, Conn,” Leona breathed. “I can't quite believe you're here.”

  “Nor me either,” he laughed.

  He risked putting an arm around her and they sat side-by-side on the bed. It was lovely just to be close to her, to feel her warm presence in his arms and know she was near.

  Leona leaned her head against his shoulder and they sat together as they had done all their lives. Conn felt his heart relax, things settling into place in a way they had not been since her departure. He held her hand.

  “I missed you.”

  “Oh, Conn. I missed you, too.”

  They looked into each others' eyes and kissed again, but this time it was a slow, gentle kiss. Conn felt his need return as she gasped and moved closer, her mouth pink and clinging, and leaned back, face screwed up with effort. He fought the urge to push her back onto the bed and cover her with kisses. He needed her.

  “Conn?”

&n
bsp; He had stood, going suddenly to the window. He turned. “Sorry, Leona,” he said, mouth quirking in a smile. “I just...I cannae help it. I want you.”

  Leona sighed. “I want you, too, Conn, but we can't risk it.”

  “I know.” He sighed. “Well, the first thing we have to do is get you out of here.”

  “Yes,” Leona nodded. “I was thinking...”

  “We should go...”

  They spoke simultaneously and he smiled ruefully. “Sorry, Leona. You say first.”

  She laughed. It was a common occurrence, one that had plagued their early conversations.

  “Well, then,” she said. “What I was going to say was I have a plan to leave this place. I was going to do it alone. Mayhap we could do it together?”

  “Tell me,” he said, feeling hope flare inside him.

  She told him. “...And we would sneak out through the side door at four of the clock,” she explained. “That way, we'll be in position when the good father leaves.”

  “True,” Conn nodded briskly. Then, “It's too risky, Leona.”

  “It is risky,” she said immediately. “But not overly so. We have to, Conn!” She was desperate. “How else can we go?”

  “We could just walk?” he suggested. “Tell the man we're going for a ride. Never come back.”

  “True...” Leona said, staring at him. Then she smiled. “Conn! It's brilliant! We could do that!”

  He smiled, feeling impossibly proud of himself. He looked at his hands. “It was nothing.”

  She laughed. “Modesty doesn't become you, Conn!” He scowled at her and they both grinned.

  “What time is it?” he asked after a moment.

  Leona stood and looked out of the window, straining her eyes to see something in the garden. He joined her just as she pulled in her head.

  “Twenty minutes past the hour,” she informed him. “There's a sundial in the rose arbor. Look. You can just see it from here.”

  “Oh,” Conn said and looked impressed. “Quite so.”

  Leona giggled. “Well, we should finish our plans.”

  They did. Whispering together, they drew up a plan of action. They would wait until the day after tomorrow, say they were going to the woodlands for a ride, and then simply head down to the coast. They would follow the road, but ride alongside, keeping to woodlands. They would stay at abbeys to avoid being detected on the road and take the first boat from Calais to...well...anywhere.