The Highlander's Redemption

‘I’ll know soon. Lady Drummond has promised to send me a message through Jeannie.’

They were at the junction of West Bow. Jeannie stopped to take her baskets from Calumn. ‘This is where I leave you. I’ll be in touch once I’ve had word from her ladyship.’

‘Remind your brother to expect me on Wednesday,’ Calumn said.

Jeannie glanced over at Madeleine. ‘Aye, provided you don’t get distracted,’ she said with a teasing smile, heading off down the hill.

Back at his lodging, Calumn steered Madeleine towards the settle in the reception room. ‘I’ve asked Jamie’s mother to serve us dinner. I’ve told her you’re a distant relative, on your way to London to take up a post as a governess.’

‘A governess!’

‘I had to think of something to save her sensibilities,’ Calumn said, ‘though God knows, you look no more like a governess than a laundry maid. You can use my spare room again tonight, it will save you the hunt for other lodgings.’

‘You are very kind, but I don’t think it would be right.’ It would most definitely be wrong. Once again, Madeleine thanked the stars for the cold grey sea which, she sincerely trusted, would protect her hitherto spotless reputation. There would be questions when she returned, but she was relying on Guillaume’s presence and her father’s relief at their safe return to plug any gaps which her own imagination could not fill. It grieved her to think of deceiving Papa, but really, it was his own fault for not believing.

‘I could ask Jamie’s mother to recommend somewhere,’ she suggested, strangely loath to do so. Because she was tired, she told herself, not because she actually wanted to stay here.

‘You could, but you’ve seen how crowded the city is, you’d likely have to share.’

‘I didn’t think about that. But it wouldn’t be right for me to stay here. People would think—they would say that—it wouldn’t be proper.’

Calumn laughed. ‘I’ve told you, they think you’re a distant relative. Anyway, isn’t it a bit late to be worrying about the proprieties after last night?’

She stared into those perfectly blue eyes of his, searching for his meaning. Did he remember? Madeleine folded her arms nervously across her chest, realised how defensive the gesture was and placed her hands once more in her lap. ‘You’re right. I should have thought about it before. I shouldn’t have stayed here last night.’

‘Why not?’ Calumn sprawled in the seat, but he was looking at her with unnerving penetration.

She twisted her hands together, suddenly nervous, and moved to the large chair opposite him. ‘I should have told you before. I’m not what you think I am. In fact, I am Guillaume’s betrothed,’ she confessed baldly.

Calumn looked remarkably unperturbed. ‘I guessed it must be something like that, even though you did your best to lead me into believing you were just his mistress.’

‘You guessed!’

‘You’re not a very good liar. That vagueness about your family, and when I saw you with Jeannie—it was obvious you were gently bred,’ Calumn explained matter of factly. ‘Then there was the fact that as de Guise’s discarded mistress you can’t have had much to gain in coming looking for him, whereas if you were his affianced bride—it had to be something like that to make you run away, which is what I presume you’ve done?’

Madeleine stared at him in astonishment. ‘Yes, but.’

‘And why should you tell me the truth, after all?’ Calumn continued in a musing tone. ‘You’re in a foreign country, you’ve been attacked by three drunken soldiers and we have known each other less than twenty-four hours. Frankly, I’m impressed that you’ve had the gumption to get this far without a fit of the vapours.’

Madeleine smiled weakly at this. ‘Thank you.’ She fell to pleating the starched apron Jeannie had lent her. ‘I won’t go home. You won’t make me go home, will you? You know what it’s like, don’t you, the needing to know what happened? You know what it’s like to have to wait and wait and wait, and all the time everyone is telling you that you’re wrong?’ Her big green eyes had a sheen of tears. ‘You do understand that, don’t you, Calumn?’

For the second time that day, her words evoked memories he spent most of his waking hours suppressing and much of the night time reliving. The months of waiting, the guilt of the survivor gnawing away at his guts, adding to the agony of the betrayal he had been forced into and the lingering pain of his slow-to-heal scar. He did not want to remember. Calumn ran his fingers through his hair. ‘We’re talking about you, not me. What family have you back in France?’

‘There’s just Papa and me. I’m an only child—my mother died last year.’

‘Just Papa. Who will no doubt be insane with worry. Did you say you left no word of where you were going?’

‘No,’ Madeleine whispered, shrinking from the thought of the upset her disappearance must have caused, ‘but he will guess where I am.’

‘You left his care without telling him and you left it alone. He will be imagining all sorts, any father would be,’ Calumn said sternly. ‘You must write to him, put his mind at rest, as soon as you have word from the castle. What possessed you to do something like this after so much time has passed?’

‘Guillaume’s cousin has started legal proceedings to have him declared dead. If he succeeds, all Guillaume’s lands will pass to him—a man who has spent all his life in Burgundy,’ Madeleine said contemptuously. ‘Guillaume loves La Roche, it would break his heart to lose it. Papa would not listen to me, he said I should forget Guillaume, that coming here to look for him would be too painful, but I couldn’t stand by and let La Roche fall into a stranger’s hands.’

‘Ah. So it’s about land.’

The sudden change in Calumn’s tone made Madeleine wary. ‘And Guillaume.’

‘An arranged match, I assume?’

‘We were betrothed when I was five years old, and certainly it is the dearest wish of my papa to see me settled so close, for our estates share a border and a son of mine would be able to inherit where I cannot, but—’

‘Very touching, but it’s still an arranged match.’

‘Guillaume is my best friend. I know him as well as I know myself. He is like the son my father never had, and—I don’t need to justify my marriage to you. Yes, it is an arranged match, but I am very happy with it. It will make me happy.’

‘How does it make you happy?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘De Guise gets you and, through your son, your father’s lands. Your father gets to keep his estate in the family and his daughter next door. But what about you, what do you get out of it?’

‘Get out of it?’ He did not sound angry, but there was a tightness about his voice she could not understand. ‘You make it sound like a business transaction. It is what I want.’

‘Really? ‘Tis not my experience that fulfilling the expectations of others leads to happiness. You’d have done better to stay at home. At least that way you’ll avoid being shackled to a man you are marrying only to please your father.’

‘You know nothing of the situation,’ Madeleine said indignantly. ‘Of course I want to do this for Papa, but I am not just doing it for him, and I am certainly not being forced into doing something I dislike. In any case, what is wrong with wanting to do what I know will make others happy?’

‘Nothing at all, unless it makes you unhappy.’

‘Why should doing what I know is the dearest wish of those nearest to me make me unhappy?’ Madeleine asked in bewilderment.

‘You subscribe to the view that duty is its own reward, do you? Aye, well you’re right in one way. In my experience duty is always rewarded handsomely. By misery. You’re fooling yourself, Madeleine. You’re not in love with Guillaume de Guise.’

‘Guillaume is the dearest person in the world to me since Maman died.’

‘Like a brother, maybe, but are you in love with him?’

‘I’ve known him since we were children, of course I love him.’

‘Love, not in love. That’s not the same thing at all.’

She stared at him wordlessly, feeling out of her depth. She could not read his face. He did not seem angry, but he had a look in his eye she did not trust, a tightness about the mouth she was wary of. He was watching her too closely. His coat hung open, the full skirts trailing on either side almost to the floor. He crossed one long leg negligently over the other, so casually, yet there was something about him that was most definitely not casual. He was baiting her. Setting a trap for her, if only she knew what it was.

‘Answer the question, Madeleine.’

Unexpectedly perturbed by the turn the conversation had taken, Madeleine got restlessly to her feet, tugging Jeannie’s cotton cap off her head. Several long strands of her hair unfurled, curling over her cheeks and down her neck. ‘Love, in love, it’s the same thing,’ she said with a certainty she was by no means feeling. ‘I love Guillaume as my friend. When we are married I will love him as my husband. I will love him because he is my husband, and because in making him my husband I know I am making both him and my family happy.’ She said the words like a catechism, as if by articulating her feelings in this way they would acquire more heft. Tugging impatiently at the bow which held her apron in place, she managed to pull it into a tangle.

‘Come here.’ Calumn sat up. ‘Let me do that.’

She stood with her back to him. His knees brushed the sides of her petticoat. His fingers pulled at the bow. ‘Closer, it’s worked itself into a knot,’ he said, tugging her nearer, so that if she leaned back just the tiniest fraction their bodies would be touching. He bent his head and it brushed against her back.

‘There,’ Calumn said and the strings of Jeannie’s apron unravelled.

He turned her round, putting his hands on her waist. Then he stood up, still holding her, giving her a look that could be mistaken for a smile, a curl of his mouth that seemed to reach up inside her like long fingers, squeezing her, slowly squeezing the breath out of her in the most curious way. Her lips were level with his throat. If he kissed her again, she would have to stand on her tiptoes. Not that she was going to kiss him. Or allow him to kiss her. What on earth was she thinking?

Calumn’s voice, softer now, interrupted her thoughts, which seemed to have strayed far beyond the bounds of what was decent. ‘Being in love is a different matter entirely from feeling affection for someone. The fact you don’t understand that tells me you’re not. And just to prove it, Mademoiselle Lafayette, I’m going to kiss you again.’ He tilted up her chin.

‘No,’ Madeleine whispered.

He put his arms around her.

‘No.’ Her heart raced, as if she had been running. Calumn leaned towards her, and a long lock of hair, bright as new-minted gold, fell over his cheek. She gazed into his eyes as he lowered his lips to hers, knowing she should move away, but something contrary and stronger in her kept her there, because she wanted to know what it would be like to be kissed by him. Properly. Just so she would understand what he meant.

She couldn’t move. She gazed at him like one mesmerised, her lips parting just the tiniest fraction, the movement so small she was not even aware of it.

Calumn hesitated. She should not be here. He should not be doing this. Not even to prove her wrong.

But her mouth was made for kissing. He hadn’t thought of much else since that tantalising taste of her earlier in the day. She felt as if she were made for him, though who would have guessed it to look at her, so fragile compared to his own solid bulk. His hand tightened on her waist. He should not, but how could he resist when she was looking at him, unblinking, with her bewitching eyes, as if she saw into his soul? As if she was luring him towards her, exactly as mermaids do to sailors. She wanted him to kiss her. And it was for her own good, was it not? He could not resist. He simply could not. So he kissed her.

He kissed her and Madeleine sighed, the sound of the dying wind playfully ruffling a sail at sunset. Calumn’s mouth was warm as before. Soft as before. Gentle as before. It fitted over hers perfectly, his lips moulding themselves to hers, sipping on hers, as if tasting, encouraging her to do the same. She twined her fingers into his hair, relishing its springy softness, and pressed her lips against his, relishing the different softness and now the taste of him. She felt her blood heat. He kissed her and she kissed him back, liking the way his breath came just a bit faster, the way his fingers clenched just a bit tighter on her waist, the way his excitement fuelled her own. His tongue touched hers, turning warm into scalding hot. His fingers tangled in her hair. His tongue on hers again, a flash of heat that made her insides quiver and an answering surge in him, for she could feel the hardening of his arousal nudging against her.

She sighed and this time it sounded like a moan. She thirsted for more. His kiss became less gentle and she liked that, too. She pressed, mouth to mouth, breast to breast, thigh to thigh, flesh to muscle, her softness against his hardness. His hand slipped up from her waist to cup her breast. No one had ever kissed her like this. No one had ever touched her so intimately. No one. Not even—what was she doing!

Madeleine wrenched her mouth away. ‘Non!’ She wriggled free of his embrace. Heat turned to cold in seconds, as if her blood had been flushed with ice, though her lips were burning. She tried to cool them against the back of her hand. She forced herself to meet Calumn’s gaze. His eyes were glazed, his hair in wild disorder. A dark flush suffused his cheek bones. His breath was coming in short, shallow gasps. Shamed, she realised she probably looked the same.

Calumn shook his head, pushing his hair back from his forehead. ‘No,’ he agreed, ‘you’re right, that was more than enough to prove my point.’

‘What point?’

‘You would not have kissed me like that if you really were in love with de Guise.’

Madeleine blushed furiously. ‘It is none of your business how I kiss Guillaume, and none of your business to be kissing me. You should not have done so. I told you to stop. I said no, I—’

‘You’re deluding yourself, mademoiselle,’ Calumn said with infuriating calm. ‘You wanted to kiss me, just as much as I wanted to kiss you.’

Madeleine stared at him in consternation, desperate to contradict him, but instinctively knowing that to do so would be foolish. ‘I …’

Just then, there was a soft rap on the door. ‘Your dinner’s here, Master Munro,’ a female voice called.

‘Saved,’ Calumn said with an infuriating smile as he left the room to relieve Mrs Macfarlane of her loaded tray.

Chapter Three

Mrs Macfarlane’s plain but excellent repast eased the tension between them. As they ate their way through chicken stew served with a dish of peas and greens, Calumn directed the conversation to less personal matters. Perhaps he felt he had made his point, perhaps he wished simply to enjoy his food without further contretemps; whatever it was, Madeleine was happy to follow his lead. Banishing the whole kissing episode to the back of her mind, she regaled Calumn with a highly coloured version of her two days at sea in a Breton fishing boat. It made him laugh, and encouraged him in turn to recount some of his own—carefully edited—traveller’s tales. His description of a meal of pig’s trotters he had eaten in a Paris café encouraged Madeleine to recall the plate of pig’s fry she had been presented with as a child, after attending the ceremonial slaying of the said pig by one of her father’s tenants.

‘It was an honour, you know,’ she said with a grin, ‘but I was only about five, and I said to Papa, I don’t like worms.’

‘Did you eat it?’

‘Oh, yes, Papa would not have his tenants insulted. It didn’t taste of anything much.’ The clock on the mantel chiming the hour surprised them both. ‘I didn’t realise it was so late,’ Madeleine said in dismay.

‘You’ll stay here, then? It’s far too late for you to go looking for somewhere else now, and at least if you’re here I’ll know you are safe.’

Though he phrased the words as a question, his tone indicated that he would brook no argument. Madeleine was inclined to dispute this assumption of responsibility, but common sense and an inclination to spend more time in his rather-too-appealing company made her keep quiet. ‘Thank you. I would like to stay, if you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure.’ Calumn pushed back his chair. ‘I’m going out for a while. Have you everything you need?’

She was disappointed, but realised he was being tactful. ‘Yes. And thank you, Calumn, you’ve been very kind.’

‘Until the morning, then.’ The door closed behind him, leaving the rooms resoundingly quiet. Loneliness threatened. To keep it at bay, Madeleine tried to think about what she would do when—no if, it must be if—Lady Drummond sent her a message with Guillaume’s whereabouts. But that set her into a panic about how she would do whatever she had to do, so she took herself to bed, and despite being absolutely certain she would lie awake all night worrying, Madeleine fell into a sound sleep.

The company at the White Horse was thin, and Calumn was not in the mood for gambling. Returning early, he lay awake, all too aware of Madeleine in bed next door.

Her situation was abominable. He knew too well what it felt like, that wanting to know. If de Guise was alive, the bastard deserved a whipping for not having the guts to face her. He did not deserve her, any more than he deserved to have her save his lands, for he must have known his cousin would claim them in his absence. In fact, de Guise seemed altogether too careless with all his property. Of a certainty he didn’t deserve it. Unless of course he really was dead, which, the more Calumn thought about it, seemed the most likely thing.

Except that Madeleine seemed so sure. Just as Calumn had been, against all the odds. What if he’d given up, as his mother had begged him to? How would that have looked, on top of everything else? Angrily, he closed his mind to that path of thought. Betrayal was betrayal. A matter of degree made no difference.

Back to Madeleine, an entrancing enough diversion.Such a shame it would be for such a lovely one as she to throw herself away on someone who didn’t deserve her. Her response to his kisses had taken him aback. His own response had been equally surprising. Calumn was not a man accustomed to losing control, but there was a depth of sensuality in her which was obviously yearning to be released.

Releasing it was absolutely none of his business, Calumn told himself. None, no matter how tempting the idea was. Misguided Madeleine might be in choosing to marry for the sake of her family, but at the end of the day, it was her decision. And as to seducing her just to prove a point—no! No matter how attractive the proposition was, it was strictly against his own rigid rules of conduct. But that did not prevent him from thinking about it.

Madeleine awoke the next morning to an insistent tapping on the door of her chamber. Still befuddled with sleep, she tumbled out of bed and opened it, wearing only her shift. Calumn stood on the other side, already dressed, filling the small room with his presence. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, gazing up at him in bewilderment.

He reached down to twist a long coil of her platinum hair around his finger. ‘You look even more like a mermaid than usual, with your hair down like that.’ His eyes widened as he took in her state of undress. The neck of her shift was untied, revealing the smooth perfection of her breasts.

She caught the direction of his gaze and blushed, placing her arms protectively over herself, trying to bat away the hand which toyed with her hair. It was a nice hand. Warm. The fingers long and tapered. Not soft but work-roughened. He had not the hands of a gentleman, but nor were they of a common labourer. He had interesting hands. Realising she had been holding on to one of them for far too long, Madeleine dropped it.

‘It’s a bonny day,’ Calumn said. ‘I thought I could show you a bit more of Edinburgh while you wait on her ladyship getting in touch.’

‘That would be lovely, but I’m sure you must have business to attend to.’

‘Nothing that can’t wait, and at least if you’re with me I can be sure you’re not getting into any trouble.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Don’t look like that, you know perfectly well you shouldn’t be going about a strange city on your own, and you know perfectly well you don’t really want to. Allow me to be your guide. I want to.’

The clank of a pail heralded Jamie’s arrival with hot water. It was an appealing idea charmingly proposed. After clearing the air last night, and spending such a pleasant dinner, Madeleine could think of no reason to refuse it. ‘Thank you. I’d like that,’ she said, with a smile she tried hard to restrain.

‘We’ll go out by the Bow Port,’ Calumn said, taking her arm at the gate of Riddell’s Court half an hour later, ‘then we can walk through the royal park. I’ll show you where Prince Charles Edward stayed in the lap of luxury while he was in Edinburgh—and where his men were forced to camp in less salubrious conditions.’

They proceeded in their usual fashion through the Edinburgh streets, Calumn striding with graceful ease through the crowded thoroughfares and mazelike wynds. ‘Thank you for taking the time to show me around. Despite what you said, I am sure you have other things you should be doing,’ Madeleine said, clinging to his arm.

Calumn cast her a shrewd glance. ‘Are you fishing?’

Her dimples peeped. ‘A little. You don’t strike me as a man who would be content to be idle. Jeannie told me you’d been teaching her brother how to fight with a sword.’

‘Did she now? And no doubt she told you I’d been in the army too?’

Remembering Jeannie’s warning about Calumn’s reticence on the subject, Madeleine nodded warily.

To her relief Calumn seemed not to take offence. ‘I joined up at sixteen. ‘Twas my father’s idea. I was in need of some discipline, he said, and to be honest I was relieved to get away from him—I was just beginning to see that what he called the old ways were more or less tyranny. We were forever at outs. A couple of years’ service is all he intended, enough for me to learn how to do as I was bid, then I was to come home and do as he bid.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘But the army made me; my regiment was more like a family to me than my own blood. After two years, though my father ordered me home, I stayed on. Two years became six, the rift between us became a gulf, but the more he created the less inclined I was to obey and as for him—even now he’s on his last legs, there’s no give in him.’ Calumn’s face darkened, then he shrugged. ‘I was a good officer and I worked hard to earn the respect of my men. There’s any number of wee laddies in these parts like Jeannie’s brother who think to escape as I did, though what they’re running from is poverty rather than despotism. I spend a fair bit of my time teaching them the tricks of the officer’s trade. Not that any of them will be able to afford a commission, mind, but if they know how to use a sabre and a foil, if they have some education and understand the basic rules of warfare and command, it will give them an advantage in moving up the ranks.’

‘I imagine you are an excellent teacher—though with that temper of yours, I would not envy the boy who gets it wrong.’

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