The Highlander’s Widow (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 8) Read online

“No, neither do I, much,” Amalie agreed briskly. “Not that I know him, mind. But I can't take to him.”

  “Good!” her son said hastily. “I would be sorry if you could. He's thick-headed, too. Not like a horse – more like a mule!”

  “Alec!” She laughed, feeling weak with relief. The fact that her son did not approve of the plan made it seem less-important, somehow. Less pressing. She and Bronan would find a way around it. She was sure they would. Alec could help. He was a bright lad.

  “Your father would be so proud of you,” she said.

  She saw her son go pink. He didn't look at her, but out of the window. Amalie could see he was in the grip of some mighty emotion. His throat worked and his eyelids blinked. After a long moment, he turned toward her.

  “Thanks, Mama,” he said. His voice was low and tight, and she could tell he was about to cry. “I am pleased to know it.”

  Amalie cleared her throat. She was about to say that of course he would be, that he always would have been – that she couldn't understand why she'd never told him that earlier. Before she could put the thoughts into words, he'd turned away and hurried from the room.

  It left her, for the moment, alone. To plan.

  She would not do as her uncle commanded.

  A PLAN AND DANGEROUS TIMES

  It was Alec, oddly, who came up with the plan.

  The turret-room had become their sanctuary. Amalie, Bronan and Alec were sitting there to take luncheon together and talk when it happened. The atmosphere was more relaxed, since Uncle Randall had left, heading east on some business of his. Amalie leaned back in her seat and lifted a glass of cordial, seeing the way the light sparked amber from the yellowish fluid – it was elder-flower cordial, syrupy and delicious.

  “What would you say if Uncle organized a trip to Astley?” Alec asked slowly. “To show me the estate? It would mean he – and his guards – would have to leave Inverkeith awhile.”

  Amalie stared. “Alec...?”

  Bronan laid a caring hand on her arm. “Whist, Amalie,” he said gently. “Let the lad talk.”

  Amalie smiled at him and stroked the knuckles of that powerful hand. She had long ago – as had he – ceased to act as if there was anything except tender feelings between them. Bronan had likewise ceased with concealment. Alec, if he guessed more than even they let on, seemed unperturbed.

  Now, he raised a brow at her. “Well, Mama? It would give you time. To do...whatever it is you and Bronan plan.”

  Amalie nodded, thoughtful. The newness of his ease with Bronan was not lost on her, either – over the last three days at Inverkeith the bond had flowered from a mix of awe and wariness to real friendship.

  “Lad, what about the trip?” Bronan said uneasily. “Your uncle's an unscrupulous type. If you put yourself alone with him, well...” He paused.

  “He won't hurt me,” Alec said, self-assured. “He can't afford to. He has no heir. If he did...” He shrugged. “But he hasn't. So I'm worth something to him.”

  Amalie looked at her son, regarding him as if seeing him for the first time. He had grown, these last few weeks – not physically, for he was still the same height as before, and slim-built, like his father had been – but within. He was a wise, balanced youth, mature in all the right ways.

  “Son, you're quite right,” she said slowly. “You're too important to him now. But if...” She paused. “If this uprising brings ill to this land, then those who supported it like your father will be in less favor.”

  “You mean...” He paused, frowning as he tried to grasp her thoughts.

  “Your mother means that if Inverkeith is in disfavor, Almure takes precedence.”

  “Almure cannot be the earl,” Alec shrugged.

  Amalie nodded. “That's true.”

  Almure couldn't take her husband's title – only Alec could do that. Or his uncle, if Alec were in danger. She tensed. “Alec, don't go anywhere with him alone. You can't risk it. I cannot let you...”

  “Oh, Mama,” Alec smiled. “I'm not so trusting as all that. I'd take McFlannan. He can keep me out of harm's way.”

  “Mayhap that's true,” Amalie said, not convinced. “But son, be careful...?”

  “I will be.”

  It was as if she hadn't made the decision – it had simply, somehow, come into being. They would do as Alec planned.

  “We'll leave here as soon as his men are departed,” Bronan said, already making further adjustments. “The sooner we're away from here, the further we can get before your return. How far is Astley?”

  “Five days' ride,” Amalie reminded him. “We'd have almost a fortnight.”

  “Yes,” Bronan said, frowning. “But if he chose to return early? Or send someone back, to check on things? It's not worth risking. I don't think he's likely to risk you running off.”

  Amalie chuckled. “Well, I shall just have to make sure he is convinced of my loyalty.”

  Bronan looked worried. “Amalie? What are you suggesting you do?”

  He looked rattled, and she smiled. “You silly man,” she said gently. “I mean nothing drastic.”

  He leaned back in the chair, reassured. He still frowned. “Now, Alec? You're sure he'd suspect nothing?”

  “He thinks I'm so eager to be duke, like him, that he'd believe I want to see the place,” Alec chuckled. “One thing about Uncle you should know – he loves it when people think he's clever and admirable. If he thinks I'm completely in awe of him, he'll do it.”

  “Alec!” Amalie chuckled. Once again, she found herself astonished at her son's perceptive way. She had missed so much of this, his growing up. She had been so locked in her grief she'd seen him only as a fellow victim of bereavement. She'd lost sight of the man he was becoming. She felt guilty. “Alec, son,” she said slowly. “You amaze me.”

  Alec blushed and looked away. “Thanks, Mama.”

  The room was filled with silence for a moment. Amalie sighed and stretched, relaxed. It made her feel that a vast weight had been lifted from her shoulders and she was, for the moment, safe and content. She beamed at Alec.

  “Well, I suppose that, since he's not here, we might as well make the most of the peace and quiet. We haven't had a chance to show Bronan the castle.”

  Alec's eyes brightened. He grinned at Bronan and in a moment was once again a cheeky boy, excited at impressing a newfound-friend. “Yes!” he exclaimed. “You haven't had a chance to show him the ballroom yet! Or the hidey-hole. Or the tower. Come on! Let's go downstairs first. I want him to see the colonnade.”

  “Slow down, son,” Amalie laughed. “We're still eating lunch.”

  Bronan, beside her, chuckled. “I'm finished with lunch, or just about,” he said easily. He looked content. “And besides, I'm sure Mrs. Miller will leave it here, if we ask her to. It shan't go bad in an hour.”

  Amalie laughed. She looked at the feast they'd had sent up from the kitchens – cold fowl, bread, fruit. It was all something that could stay here for an hour without spoiling.

  “Well, then,” she nodded, cheered. “We'll do it that way, then. Shall we start in the entrance-way? That way, we can go next to the ballroom. I want to show Bronan the new paintings.”

  “You and the paintings,” Alec grinned, pulling a face.

  Amalie laughed. Together, feeling like a family, they headed down into the hallway.

  It was when they were in the colonnade that Amalie heard the voices. She tensed and, not wanting to alarm Bronan or her son, headed to her right, in their direction.

  “...it's going to have to be soon,” a male voice said.

  Amalie tensed. Keeping to the shadows, she headed in the direction of the words.

  “Aye,” a voice replied. “He has it all sorted. Just two more days now.”

  Two more days? Amalie felt herself tense. Who were they talking about?

  “It's soon, then,” the first voice said. “We'll have to make it quick. Can he make it on time?”

  “Who knows?” the first voice chuckled.
“You know the baron. Never leaves anything too late.”

  The baron. Baron Almure? Amalie felt her eyes grow wide. What was happening? What did her uncle plan?

  “Well, all the same, it's our job to make sure things go according to plan.”

  “Aye. You been keeping an eye on the countess?”

  “Aye,” the second man said slowly. “Of course I have. What of it?”

  “They're planning something. I don't like it.”

  Amalie tensed. How could they possibly know? Had someone been listening?

  Suddenly, a terrible thought occurred to her. The plans. They were all upstairs.

  This newest idea, they had not written down yet. But the others – the flight to Marguerite, the plans to write to her French cousin, seeking a passage to his homeland – were noted on the parchment where she usually made sewing-patterns. It was lying on the stool, where anyone could see it.

  Her heart almost stopped. Was it likely they'd send someone up to check? If they'd been keeping watch on things, as they said, surely they would have overheard all that already?

  They don't know what we're planning though, Amalie told herself wildly. So they haven't listened so carefully.

  All the same, she felt urgency gripping her. If they were being watched, they couldn't be too careful. The plans written down were firm evidence they were planning something, at any rate. If her uncle got the faintest hint about it, he would ensure they could never escape here.

  I need to go and move those papers.

  Looking round the colonnade, Amalie swiftly stepped toward the doorway to the house.

  Her son was talking to Bronan, showing him the score-marks on the stonework, where it was rumored the knights had once sharpened their weaponry.

  She saw Bronan bending over to study them, resting a protective hand on her son's shoulder. She felt overwhelmed with care for them both. If aught happened to her, at least Alec had Bronan. She didn't know why, but she trusted him implicitly. She knew that he could make sure that Alec's best interests were protected, or at least that her son remained safe.

  I'll slip up quickly. It won't take a minute.

  Heading to the door, she stepped back into the cool interior of her home.

  She slipped lightly up the stairs. The air was much cooler in here, and she shivered, wishing she had brought a shawl with her. After the warmth outside, it was a sharp contrast. She headed silently toward the turret.

  The plans were still there, laid out on the small table. She grabbed them and headed to the fireplace. She put them silently on the logs, watched the thick, creamy parchment catch alight. They had no more need of them, anyway.

  That's better.

  She turned back toward the door.

  That was when she heard the footsteps. Slow but insistent, they were heading toward the door. The only room up here was her sewing-room. Whoever was out there was coming this way.

  She glanced one last time back toward the fire, content in the way the documents were ablaze. Then she ran to the door.

  “I don't think so, milady,” a guard said softly.

  The door slammed in her face. A key turned in the lock.

  Amalie leaned against the wooden surface, too shocked to move. Against all expectations, her uncle had imprisoned her here.

  * * *

  “Um, Alec?” Bronan paused, looking up. Something felt badly wrong. He hadn't heard Amalie talking for a while, and it was unlike her to be silent for such a long period.

  “Yes?” Alec looked up at him, brown eyes wide. He had just been telling Bronan a tale of a famous rider, who had – according to local accounts – ridden from Inverkeith to Astley in three days to warn the duke of an oncoming attack. He frowned. “What, Bronan?”

  “Your mother's quiet, eh?” He grinned, hunting for calm. “Shall we see where she's got to?”

  “She was there...oh!” Alec frowned. “I saw her a moment ago. By the columns. Is she outside?” He jerked his head into the courtyard proper, where sunlight streamed down on flagstones.

  Bronan shrugged. “I don't know, lad,” he admitted. “Shall we look..?

  “Yes.”

  Alec looked as worried as Bronan felt, and they both hurried over toward the light.

  Searching the courtyard proved fruitless. Alec was all for shouting her name, but Bronan shook his head. “Easy, lad. We don't want one of them tae hear it.” He jerked his head at the guardsmen, who, casually but observantly, paced along the wall.

  Alec nodded swiftly. “We'll have to split up and search for her...You go inside, I'll stay here.”

  “You're sure?” Bronan glanced up at the guardsmen on the walls. Alec nodded.

  “They're not going to do anything to hurt me. Not without Uncle's say-so.”

  Bronan nodded. Feeling relieved – at least Alec was safe, of the two people who had come to mean so much to him – he headed inside. “Amalie?”

  Indoors, where there was no presence of guardsmen, even discreet ones, he risked calling her aloud. He looked around. By now, he knew a little of the plan of the house, though Amalie and her son seemed to have done their best to confuse him, showing him new rooms and places he'd never have imagined existed, like the “hidey-hole”. He headed upstairs. “Amalie?”

  She wasn't in her bedchamber – a cursory look inside told him that much. The place was as she had left it, a night-robe cast casually onto the bed, and a velvet band for her hair lying skew on the dressing-table.

  He sniffed, breathing her perfume. It was something soft, like lavender but more floral, a scent he couldn't fathom. He sighed and breathed it in again, then headed out.

  Upstairs another story, he checked the room where all the documents were kept. It had been her former husband's study and he hesitated to go in, knowing it was a sacred place to her – somewhere that enshrined his memory.

  “Amalie?” Nobody answered, so he went left. He headed toward the turret-room.

  When he got there, he felt a sense of wrongness. He saw a guard coming down the steps. Wearing the green patterned tartan of Amalie's uncle's household – the green plaid of Astley – the fellow looked businesslike. He leaned back, pressed to the wall.

  The moment the man had disappeared down the hallway, passing him by a hand's width – Bronan ducked out of the concealing alcove where he'd waited and headed up the stairs. “Amalie?” he called. “Amalie!”

  “I'm here!”

  A voice called through the door. Bronan ran to it. The door was locked. “Amalie?”

  He couldn't believe it. He rattled the handle, desperate.

  “There's a key above the door,” she whispered. “In the niche. I heard him put it there earlier.”

  Bronan looked up. As she said, there was a small indent in the wall, big enough to act as an indentation for a lamp to shelter in from the wind. He reached up there, weak with how relieved he felt. He scrabbled there, desperate to find the key while they still had time to do it. He felt metal. Hastily, heart thudding, he unlocked the door.

  He stepped in and Amalie shot out. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned against his chest. He hugged her, heart thudding all the while in desperation. They had to move!

  “Amalie,” he whispered, stepping back and looking into her eyes. “We have to go. Immediately.” His grip was gentle on her wrist, but firm. He looked down the stairs, already planning their escape strategy – they would take their horses, charge the gate, ride into the woods.

  “No.”

  Bronan stared at her. “What? Amalie! What're you saying, lass?” he asked gently. He looked into her eyes, afraid that something had crazed her.

  “No,” she said. “Bronan, listen. I can't. He has Alec. I cannot go against him. And...and you, too, dearest. He means to kill you, too.”

  “What?” Bronan's heart stopped. He looked into her eyes, still fearing that something had turned her mind. “What is it, lass? You think he means to harm me? How could he?”

  “I heard them talking,” Amalie
said, matter-of-fact. He looked at her and saw how serious she looked, how sane. He shivered and said nothing. Let her continue.

  “They were going to wait until you were distracted by something,” she said. “Then they'll push you down the stairs. They mean to lead you up here, I think, and throw you down these very stairs.” She was looking down the stairwell, eyes wide with horror. “Bronan, I can't risk you! If they can plan to kill you, just for being here, what would happen if we ran away? We would never be free of them – they'd never stop.”

  Bronan sighed. He could tell that she was right. These people – her uncle's men, he presumed – were serious about their intentions. They would never stop until Amalie was safely wed, and he was accounted for, permanently.

  “And Alec?” He shivered. If the man was ruthless enough to remove Bronan just for being an inconvenience, what might he do to his grand-nephew, who stood between him and a glorious destiny?

  “Alec is safe, as long as he seems malleable. And as long as I do what he wishes,” she said slowly. “If he can rule through me, then he needn't replace Alec. But if I disobey?” She shivered. “I can't leave, Bronan. But you must go.”

  Bronan stared. “Leave you? I never could!”

  Amalie sighed. “Bronan, you don't understand. As long as you're here, you're in danger. And how can I disobey him, when he has you as a hostage? Leave me, dearest. It's safer for both of us.”

  Bronan stared. He felt more desolate than he'd ever felt in his life. It was the hardest thing ever – harder by far than leaving the loveless cottage of his birth, or riding into full battle alone. “Lass, I can't do this,” he said.

  “You must.”

  He looked into her eyes. They were damp with tears, the brown stare imploring. He sighed.

  “Please,” she said softly.

  Bronan nodded. “Lass, I'd do anything you needed me to do.”

  Amalie nodded. Her grin was a spark of joy, even in this dark place. “I know you would,” she said softly. “I love you, Bronan. I love your sure strength, and your smile. Never forget that?”

  Bronan shut his eyes, knowing he was going to cry and disgrace himself again. He nodded. “I love you.”