Highland Love Song (DeWinter's Song 2) Read online

  Michael watched Arrian's face, knowing she would never be the same carefree girl who'd come to Scotland with such hopes for the future. He wanted to talk to her of frivolous matters and hear her laugh again.

  "Is there anything you want to talk about, Arrian?" he asked at last.

  She laid her head on his shoulder, and he held her tightly. "I feel so empty inside, Michael. My arms ache to hold the baby I lost. My heart aches to hold a love that can never be mine."

  "I believe we gather strength from the pain, just as we learn patience from love."

  She smiled up at him. "You always make the wisest observations. I don't believe I could have endured these last weeks without your strength."

  "I only wish there was something I could do to help you, Arrian. I want my sister back."

  She buried her face in his shirtfront and cried the tears that she had been holding in for so long. Michael held her without saying a word until there were no more tears. There was no need for words between them.

  It was high August, and Warrick rode Titus across the sweeping valley. The wild heather was in harmony with the vivid blue sky, and trout were jumping in the stream he crossed.

  Hearing hoofbeats, he turned to see Mactavish riding in his direction. The older man drew even with Warrick, and they rode silently together.

  "There's dark clouds out to sea," Mactavish said at last.

  "Yes. I suppose we are in for a blow."

  "It'll be a gale."

  "Yes, I should think so."

  Mactavish moved forward in his saddle. "When do you come home? Don't you think you have stayed away long enough? Haddy's beginning to worry about you."

  "I've grown accustomed to the hunting lodge. It suits my mood."

  "You stopped the repairs on Ironworth."

  "Yes. I saw no reason to continue."

  "Damn it, Warrick, I feel as if I'm talking to myself. When are you going to realize that life is to be lived? You no longer take an interest in anything."

  "To say I do nothing is incorrect, Mactavish. I hunt, I fish, I help the villagers with menial tasks, I've even gone out twice in their fishing boats."

  "It's time you became chief again. I can't hold the clan together, Warrick. We need you."

  * * *

  Ian Maclvors crouched low to the ground, his eyes riveted on the man he hated most in the world. He had been stalking Warrick for days, staying out of sight and waiting for the right moment to end the feud forever.

  Ian smiled maliciously. Warrick Glencarin was the last of his line. Without issue from him, the title would end, and the land would revert to the Crown.

  With hatred burning in Ian's brain, he braced his rifle against his shoulder, took careful aim, and fired.

  Mactavish heard the shot, and turned to Warrick in time to see him fall forward and slide from his horse.

  Mactavish leapt from his mount and bent down beside Warrick, who was lying face down. He turned him over to see blood flowing from a head wound. The handkerchief he pressed against the wound was soon soaked.

  "Warrick, lad, speak to me!"

  There was no reply, only the distant call of a circling hawk.

  Hearing a rider approach, Mactavish leapt quickly to his feet, his senses alert. Even from a distance he recognized the sandy-colored hair of Ian Maclvors gleaming in the sun. Mactavish made a dash for his gun when another shot rang out, and he tumbled to the ground, grabbing his chest.

  Unmindful of the pain, he inched himself forward to lie beside his fallen chief. His last conscious sight was of Ian dismounting and coming toward them.

  Ian stood with his rifle poised inches from Warrick's head. He landed a heavy kick to Warrick's ribs. There was so much blood, Lord Warrick must be either dead or mortally wounded.

  "At last, I have you, you bastard. Another bullet in your brain will put an end to your miserable life."

  "Don't do it, Ian," a warning voice called out.

  Surprise registered on Ian's face when he swung around to find that Jamie had ridden up behind him. "Did you come to witness our last triumph, little brother?"

  "Is he dead?" Jamie asked.

  "If he isn't, he soon will be."

  "Put the rifle down, Ian. I will not have you commit murder."

  Ian's face reddened, and his eyes narrowed. "Would you defend this Drummond dog against your Own brother?"

  "I don't know who you are, Ian, but you aren't the brother I once admired." Jamie raised his own rifle and aimed it at Ian's heart. "I don't want to hurt you, but I won't allow you to kill him."

  Ian sneered. "You aren't a man, Jamie. That woman you married has made you her lap dog. You won't shoot me—you don't have the nerve."

  "Toss your gun down, and back away from Lord Warrick. If you don't, I'll shoot you, Ian—I swear I will."

  By now several villagers had heard the commotion and had come to investigate. They stood silently watching the exchange between the two brothers. Their worried glances were for their fallen chief. Several men had gone to the village for weapons. Until they returned they could do no more than watch from a distance.

  "How did you find me?" Ian asked, stalling for time.

  "I realized what you were going to do when you left Davinsham. I've been following you, hoping you'd change your mind."

  Ian inched his gun closer to Warrick's head. "You wouldn't choose our enemy's life over mine. I know you wouldn't Jamie."

  Ian cocked the hammer of his rifle, and a shot rang out.

  Jamie ran forward, throwing his gun aside. He fell to the ground and gathered Ian in his arms. "Damn you for making me do that. I told you I'd not let you kill Lord Warrick."

  Ian's eyes were clouding over. He licked his lips and stared at the darkening sky. "Is the Drummond chief dead, Jamie? Who would have thought the chief of the Maclvors and the chief of the Drummonds would both die on the same day?" Ian said.

  "I'm sorry," Jamie cried, staring at his brother's blood spilling onto the ground. He was vaguely aware that the villagers had come forward and were lifting Lord Warrick's limp body.

  Mactavish staggered to his feet and stood over Jamie. "Your brother'll not live."

  "I know."

  Ian blinked his eyes. "Why is it so dark, Jamie? Is it going to storm?"

  Jamie watched with heavy sadness as Ian's eyes widened and then went blank. His head fell sideways, and he was dead.

  Jamie struggled to lift his brother and was surprised when Mactavish helped him. After Ian was secured to his horse, Jamie turned to the big man. "I had to do it."

  "I know, lad—you did right. We'll all say you had no choice."

  With heaviness in his heart, Jamie mounted his horse and Mactavish handed him the reins of Ian's horse.

  "You are also wounded, Mactavish."

  "Tis no more than a shoulder wound. Ride for home. If Lord Warrick dies, even I couldn't answer for your life if you remain on Drummond land."

  Jamie nodded and rode away without a backward glance.

  * * *

  After Barra cleaned the blood from Warrick's face she found to her relief that his wound wasn't serious. The bullet had only grazed his scalp, knocking him unconscious. She applied a bandage and smiled when he groaned and opened his eyes.

  "What happened?" he asked, shaking his head and trying to stand, but dizziness overcame him and he lay back.

  "You've had no more than a grazing, m'lord. Mactavish's shoulder is more serious than your wound."

  Barra moved to the giant Scot. "The bullet's still in you and I'll have ta take it out."

  "I demand to know what happened. Who did this?" Warrick staggered to his feet. "Damn it, I want some answers."

  Haddy pushed him back to the bed. "You'll get your answers after we've tended to Mactavish, and no sooner."

  A month had passed since the day Ian died. Warrick and Mactavish had both recovered, though Mactavish still wore his arm in a sling. As they strolled around the grounds, a horseman approached.

  Mactavish
looked at Warrick in surprise. "Isn't that Lord Jamie?"

  Warrick's eyes narrowed. "I believe it is. What can he want?"

  Jamie brought his horse alongside the Drummond chief. "Greetings, Lord Warrick."

  Even though this man had saved his life, Warrick still didn't trust him. "I can't think why you would come on my land uninvited."

  "If you'll hear me out," Lord Jamie said, "I believe you'll approve of my reason for being here today."

  "You had better talk quickly. I have no wish to spend my day with a Maclvors."

  "As you know, my brother, Ian, is dead."

  Mactavish and Warrick exchanged glances. "Of course we know," Warrick said impatiently. "His blood was spilled on Drummond land."

  Jamie knew Lord Warrick was trying to provoke him, but he would not be deterred from his mission. "Ian was wrong to try to kill you. As for myself, I'll have to live the rest of life with the guilt of knowing I killed my own brother to save you."

  "That would make you chief," Warrick said.

  "I am that, though I would have wished it otherwise."

  "I won't pretend to grieve over your brother's death. But we do owe you for our lives, and for that I thank you," Warrick said.

  "Why have you come, m'lord?" Mactavish asked.

  Warrick could see the sadness in Jamie's eyes. "I have come to right an old wrong," the young chief said.

  Warrick looked skeptical. "Now, how could you do that?"

  Jamie dismounted and stood beside Warrick. "I would like to end this feud between our families. It's gone on too long."

  Warrick was puzzled. "I have no hatred for you, Jamie Maclvors."

  "I am here today to show my good intentions." Jamie reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a document, which he handed to Warrick. "I signed the lands of Kilmouris back to you. Also, I'm returning the thousand pounds that came to my family as Lady Gwendolyn's dowry."

  Warrick was speechless as he stared at the yellowed document. It was the Kilmouris deed. Still suspicious, he looked at Jamie. "Why would you do this?"

  "I would like to tell you it was my own conscience that urged me to make restitution. But in truth, it was the letters of pleading I received from my cousin, Arrian, that influenced my actions. She can be very persuasive."

  Warrick's mind was whirling. Here before him stood the enemy, and yet he was reaching out his hand in friendship. It was no trick, for the deed was genuine.

  Mactavish shook his head. "All the years of feuding and killing, and it's all over because of Lady Arrian's persistence."

  "Arrian has a great influence on my wife, and Helena has a great influence on me," Jamie said. "I wanted to please them both, so here I am. You might also like to know that Arrian has returned the Maclvors betrothal ring, and Helena happily wears it."

  Warrick stood stiffly, still unconvinced. "I assume you are happy with Lady Helena?"

  "She's the only thing I'll not return to you, Warrick. Not that you'd want my Helena. You have the love of Arrian, and that should be enough for any man."

  "You are mistaken, Lord Jamie. Your cousin Arrian does not love me."

  "I have it straight from my wife that Arrian has been miserable since returning to London. I'm also told she wears your ring and refuses to remove it, even when she retires at night. Arrian begs for news of you. I am instructed by Helena to beseech you to go to Arrian. She is most unhappy."

  Warrick searched Jamie's earnest blue eyes. "I thought Arrian would have had our marriage set aside by now."

  Jamie pushed his foot into the stirrup and slung his leg over the saddle. "Even though her father has urged her to do so, Arrian has refused to have the marriage annulled. Make what you will out of that." He touched his cap. "I wish you both a good day."

  Warrick stood for a long time as if he had turned to stone. Then he glanced at Mactavish, who was grinning widely.

  "What are you going to do?" Mactavish asked.

  Dark clouds had blocked out the sun, and the wind hit with a sudden force, so that Warrick had to yell to be heard.

  "I'm going to England to bring my wife home where she belongs. God help anyone who gets in my way!"

  32

  Aunt Mary's autumn ball had drawn only the most aristocratic of London society.

  Arrian was seated with her aunt as they watched dancing couples whirl merrily around the polished floor. She had come to London to be with Aunt Mary, hoping to cheer the dear lady and to forget her own unhappiness for a while.

  "It's hard to think of frivolity when so many of my contemporaries are dying," Lady Mary said. "That's what happens when one reaches my age."

  Arrian patted her aunt's hand. "It's not like you to be morose. I have always looked to you as my inspiration."

  Lady Mary shook her head. "Here I am going on about my troubles, and you are the one who needs cheering."

  "I am happy enough."

  "How would you like to go to Paris?"

  Arrian smiled. "Aunt Mary, you know you hate sailing, and unless you can sprout wings and fly, I know of no other way to get there."

  "Perhaps I can walk on water."

  "I would not be in the least surprised, but alas, you would have to carry me."

  "If you don't want to go to Paris, how about Venice?"

  "You would still have to sail."

  "I'd do it for you, dear."

  "No, Aunt Mary. When the season is over, I'll be returning to Ravenworth. Perhaps you would like to spend the winter with us in the country."

  "Yes. Perhaps I shall. It's so bleak here in winter."

  A young gentleman stopped before Arrian and bowed politely. "Would you do me the honor of being my partner for the next dance?"

  Arrian wanted to say no, but she nodded, knowing that Aunt Mary would expect it of her. As she was whirled around the dance floor, her mind was on a pair of silver eyes that could rip a woman's heart apart. Warrick was never far from her thoughts. He was, after all, her husband.

  The dance ended, and Arrian's partner returned her to Aunt Mary, who was surrounded by several young ladies all buzzing excitedly. "Tell me who is he, Lady Mary? If you know him I insist on being introduced to him at once."

  Arrian was curious. "To whom are they referring?"

  "That handsome man who stands near the door." One of the girls pointed with her fan. "I'll just die if I don't get to meet him. I've never seen him before."

  Arrian still couldn't see the object of their curiosity because the dancers were blocking her view.

  Lady Mary smiled, her eyes dancing with mischief. "That, my dear young ladies, is a man who has come to see only one woman. If I introduced him to you, he wouldn't even see you."

  One girl was insistent. "But who is he, and who has he come to see?"

  "He is Lord Warrick Glencarin, chief of Clan Drummond, and he has come to see only Arrian."

  Arrian's face paled as she turned around to see the man who now stood behind her. Her heart stopped beating as she stared into those wonderful silver eyes.

  He was dressed in a formal black suit with a white ruffled shirt and diamond studs.

  Warrick smiled down at Arrian, and she wanted to run into his arms. She had not realized until this moment what it felt like to be truly alive. The music was sweeter, the laughter merrier.

  Warrick held his arm out to her. "Will you dance with me, my lady wife?"

  She dipped into a curtsy and placed her hand on his arm. "It would be my pleasure, my lord."

  The other young ladies gaped at Arrian as Warrick guided her into a smooth dance step, his eyes never leaving her face.

  "I didn't know Arrian was married," one of Lady Mary's companions said. "None of us did," another girl remarked.

  "Indeed, she is married." Lady Mary laughed, her gloom all but disappearing. "Don't you think they make a wonderful couple?"

  Arrian stared into eyes that looked right into her soul. "You are a long way from home, my lord."

  His voice was deep. "Indeed, I am."

&
nbsp; "And you dislike England so much. I'm surprised to find you on our soil."

  There was laughter in his eyes and a lightness of manner that she had not seen before. "I have come to appreciate many things that are English."

  "Is it permitted to ask why you are here?"

  "It's very simple, Arrian. You see I've come for something that belongs to me."

  She was breathless as she asked the next question. "And what would that be, my lord?"

  "You, my lady wife. I have come to take you home."

  Tears swam in her eyes, dimming her vision. How wonderful it felt to be enclosed in his arms. "Are you certain this time, Warrick?"

  "More than anything in my life. I am only half alive without you. Come home with me, Arrian. You don't have to love me. You don't even have to share the same bedroom with me if it's not your desire. Just be near so I can see you every day and talk to you."

  The music stopped, and Arrian realized that she and Warrick were standing in the middle of the floor and everyone was staring at them.

  Lady Mary appeared at their side and kissed Warrick's cheek. "It's about time you came." Then she raised her hand, calling for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce my nephew by marriage, Lord Warrick Glencarin of Scotland."

  Soon Arrian and Warrick were surrounded by a curious crowd who plied them with questions. Eventually they were swept away from each other by well wishers.

  Again Lady Mary interceded. She rescued Warrick from one of the young ladies who had wanted to meet him earlier. Pulling him off the dance floor, she quickly whispered, "Go upstairs and turn right. Her bedroom is the third door. Wait there and I'll send her to you."

  Warrick beamed at her. "Have I told you that you are wonderful?"

  She laughed softly. "Go on, you devil. It's not an old woman you need to charm. Save your compliments for your wife."

  Arrian hurried up the stairs and entered her bedroom. She was immediately caught in Warrick's arms, and he smothered her with hot kisses.