time for Brenna Dalmoral to marry."
"Perhaps her brother delays for lack of a wife to preside at gatherings such as these."
"It isn't Malcolm who delays," Godwin said with a resentful twist of his mouth.
Drake couldn't hold back a short laugh. "Then I pity you, Godwin, and the rest who trail in her footsteps. From what I've seen of her, she's a willful little witch."
Drake half expected the enamored Godwin to flare angrily inher defense. Instead his eyes narrowed to slits as he watched her.
"She's all of that, my lord, and in need of sharper discipline than Malcolm exerts."
"Lord Dalmoral claims you as his boon companion. Perhaps he can persuade the lady of the advantages of your suit," Drake suggested in an offhand tone, though he couldn't imagine the likes of Brenna Dalmoral willingly consenting to wed this crow of a man.
"She vows to wed no one until the Rising is at an end," Godwin said shortly.
"Oh, and what can be the reason for that?" A round dumpling of a woman with a pert, double chinned face broke in with a mischievous glance at Godwin.
"Do you recall my being presented with my husband, Lord MacFinnan?" she asked with a twinkle at Godwin's glare.
"Indeed I do, Lady MacFinnan," Drake responded with an amused bow over her hand. She was one of the few guests who hadn't maintained an air of reserve despite their avowed loyalty to the King.
"None of the ladies in the county could have guessed we'd have so dashing an ambassador from the Crown," she said with a half motherly, half flirtatious dimpling of her cheeks.
"Such flattery is fit for men who rank higher than I do at court," Drake said with a laugh.
"Not so, my dear Earl," she said, smiling again. "We Scots tend to think as ill of Englishmen as you do of us. It's a welcome tonic to discover you don't have cloven feet."
"Lady MacFinnan, you go too far," Godwin interrupted. "You disgrace your husband with such talk."
"Nonsense, Charles. You're only out of sorts from staring at Brenna Dalmoral like a moonstruck calf. You know well enough she's promised to Cameron MacCavan."
A stain the color of port wine crept up Godwin's neck to his overlarge ears. "No longer, Lady MacFinnan," he snapped. "Lord Dalmoral will have no Rebel for a brother in law."
"Perhaps not," she answered, visibly enjoying baiting him. "But I think Brenna will outwait Malcolm and even you."
Drake stood rooted and silent for a second. Rage knotted in his chest. The lying little cat. She had gone to meet her lover. And if she had, a force of Rebels lay close by. They could mean to encircle Lochmarnoch Castle with all the Loyalists in three counties inside, trapping the chiefs of the clans, extorting tribute and support from their none too reluctant clansmen.
"Forgive me, Lady MacFinnan," Drake managed, savagely grateful the woman's remark had left Godwin too livid to speak. "I have an errand to attend."
Not waiting for either of them to hinder him, he wheeled away. But before he could take two strides, there was a clatter at the entry to the hall. The music faltered, and in the crowded room, the din of voices stilled.
A band of half a dozen men paused for a charged second in the great arched doorway. Basket hilted broadswords swung at their sides, and they were booted and spurred, and dressed in the short Highland coats and the tartan trews worn in battle. And all wore the forbidden badge of the Rebels, the blue bonnet with the white cockade.
*****
“It’s the MacCavan.”
The words echoed all around her, and Brenna's heart drummed wildly in her ears as she watched Cam strike across the smooth worn stones of the hall toward her, strong and unconquerable and alive.
The last of the music had died, and the crowd parted before him. Surrounded by his enemies, his face lit in his old daring grin. Beneath his tumble of russet curls, his craggy features
"Perhaps her brother delays for lack of a wife to preside at gatherings such as these."
"It isn't Malcolm who delays," Godwin said with a resentful twist of his mouth.
Drake couldn't hold back a short laugh. "Then I pity you, Godwin, and the rest who trail in her footsteps. From what I've seen of her, she's a willful little witch."
Drake half expected the enamored Godwin to flare angrily inher defense. Instead his eyes narrowed to slits as he watched her.
"She's all of that, my lord, and in need of sharper discipline than Malcolm exerts."
"Lord Dalmoral claims you as his boon companion. Perhaps he can persuade the lady of the advantages of your suit," Drake suggested in an offhand tone, though he couldn't imagine the likes of Brenna Dalmoral willingly consenting to wed this crow of a man.
"She vows to wed no one until the Rising is at an end," Godwin said shortly.
"Oh, and what can be the reason for that?" A round dumpling of a woman with a pert, double chinned face broke in with a mischievous glance at Godwin.
"Do you recall my being presented with my husband, Lord MacFinnan?" she asked with a twinkle at Godwin's glare.
"Indeed I do, Lady MacFinnan," Drake responded with an amused bow over her hand. She was one of the few guests who hadn't maintained an air of reserve despite their avowed loyalty to the King.
"None of the ladies in the county could have guessed we'd have so dashing an ambassador from the Crown," she said with a half motherly, half flirtatious dimpling of her cheeks.
"Such flattery is fit for men who rank higher than I do at court," Drake said with a laugh.
"Not so, my dear Earl," she said, smiling again. "We Scots tend to think as ill of Englishmen as you do of us. It's a welcome tonic to discover you don't have cloven feet."
"Lady MacFinnan, you go too far," Godwin interrupted. "You disgrace your husband with such talk."
"Nonsense, Charles. You're only out of sorts from staring at Brenna Dalmoral like a moonstruck calf. You know well enough she's promised to Cameron MacCavan."
A stain the color of port wine crept up Godwin's neck to his overlarge ears. "No longer, Lady MacFinnan," he snapped. "Lord Dalmoral will have no Rebel for a brother in law."
"Perhaps not," she answered, visibly enjoying baiting him. "But I think Brenna will outwait Malcolm and even you."
Drake stood rooted and silent for a second. Rage knotted in his chest. The lying little cat. She had gone to meet her lover. And if she had, a force of Rebels lay close by. They could mean to encircle Lochmarnoch Castle with all the Loyalists in three counties inside, trapping the chiefs of the clans, extorting tribute and support from their none too reluctant clansmen.
"Forgive me, Lady MacFinnan," Drake managed, savagely grateful the woman's remark had left Godwin too livid to speak. "I have an errand to attend."
Not waiting for either of them to hinder him, he wheeled away. But before he could take two strides, there was a clatter at the entry to the hall. The music faltered, and in the crowded room, the din of voices stilled.
A band of half a dozen men paused for a charged second in the great arched doorway. Basket hilted broadswords swung at their sides, and they were booted and spurred, and dressed in the short Highland coats and the tartan trews worn in battle. And all wore the forbidden badge of the Rebels, the blue bonnet with the white cockade.
*****
“It’s the MacCavan.”
The words echoed all around her, and Brenna's heart drummed wildly in her ears as she watched Cam strike across the smooth worn stones of the hall toward her, strong and unconquerable and alive.
The last of the music had died, and the crowd parted before him. Surrounded by his enemies, his face lit in his old daring grin. Beneath his tumble of russet curls, his craggy features
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