Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(7)
Lizzie had also welcomed her second betrothal. She'd known Rory MacLeod since she was a child, and would have been hard-pressed not to have been at least a little besotted with the handsome chief. Unfortunately for her, he'd been ordered by the king to handfast with Isabel MacDon-ald and had fallen in love with his beautiful bride.
“Then why are you so upset?” Alys asked. “Do you not wish to be married?” She sounded as if the very idea were unfathomable.
“Of course I do. It's just that I want …” Lizzie stumbled over the words, embarrassed. It sounded silly, particularly after her disappointment with John. Women in her position married for duty, not for love. Feeling the telltale rush of anxiety that precipitated a stammer, she took a deep breath, counted silently to five, and then forced herself to speak slowly and softly. “I want what you have.”
Alys's eyes widened with understanding. It had probably never occurred to her—or to any of Lizzie's family, for that matter—that she would wish for something so fanciful and not be content simply to do what was expected of her, as she always did. She would do her duty, of course, but that didn't mean she could completely quiet the whispers in her heart.
The maidservant studied Lizzie's face for a long moment before answering. “Aye, I want that for you, too, lass. But you've nothing to worry about. The earl will find you a good husband, and once he gets to know you, the man won't be able to stop himself from loving you.”
Alys said it with such conviction, Lizzie realized that arguing was futile. It sounded so much like something her mother would have said that tears blurred her eyes, and she had to turn away. Not a day went past that she didn't miss her mother. Her death only months before that of Lizzie's father had been a cruel blow that Lizzie felt every day.
She gazed out the window to distract herself from the memories, the countryside rolling by in a vivid panoply of green. The heavy spring rain had reaped its munificent bounty, turning the glens thick with grass and the trees dense with leaves.
The light dimmed as the hours passed and they moved deeper into the forest, sending shadows dancing across the walls. The carriage slowed, and an eerie quiet descended around them. It felt as though they were being swallowed up. Like a sponge, the canopy of trees took hold, soaking up the noise and light. Unconsciously, Lizzie's fingers circled the hilt of the small dirk she wore strapped to her side, as she silently thanked her brothers for insisting that she learn how to use it.
The coach jerked hard to the side, knocking Lizzie from her seat once again. But this time the carriage did not right itself, and they came to a sudden stop.
Something didn't feel right. It was too quiet. Like the still before the storm.
Her pulse quickened. Tiny bumps prickled along her skin, and the temperature seemed to drop as the chill cut to her bones.
They'd come to rest at an angle so that both women had settled on the right side of the carriage opposite the door. It took a bit of maneuvering to get themselves up.
“Are you all right, my lady?” Alys asked, giving her a hand. Lizzie could tell from her quick, high-pitched tone that the maidservant was nervous as well. “A wheel must be stuck—”
A primal cry tore through the shrouded trees, sending an icy chill straight down Lizzie's spine. Her eyes shot to Alys's in shared understanding. Dear God, they were under attack.
She could hear the voices of her cousin's guardsmen outside, shouting orders back and forth, and then the name clear as day: “MacGregors!”
Lizzie couldn't believe it. The outlaws must be mad to risk …
Her blood went cold.
Or so desperate, they have nothing to lose.
Fear started to build along the back of her neck. A whis-pery breath at first, then an icy hand with a tenacious grip. She fought to catch the frantic race of her pulse, but it kept speeding ahead.
A shot fired. Then another.
“Donnan!” Alys cried, lurching for the door handle.
“Don't!” Lizzie stopped her, the maidservant's rash act finally wrenching her from her shock. “He'll be fine,” she said more gently, knowing she had to calm the other woman's rising panic. “If you go outside, you will only distract him. We need to stay inside where they can protect us.”
Alys nodded, fear for her husband rendering her temporarily mute.
Lizzie's heart went out to her; she was unable to imagine how difficult it must be to sit and do nothing while outside the man you loved was in danger. “It will be all right,” she said as much to calm Alys as herself. If only Jamie were here. Argyll's guardsmen were well trained, but the MacGregors were reputed for their battle skills. Even her cousin had hired the proscribed warriors at times, before relations between the clans had splintered. But no one could defeat her brother. He was the most feared warrior in the Highlands.
The two women put their faces to the small window, trying to see what was happening, but the smoke from the musket shots was thick, and the fighting seemed to be in front of the carriage, beyond their field of vision.
The noise was deafening, but the most horrible part was imagining, trying to match the sounds with what might be happening. Unfortunately, there was no mistaking the sound of death. It surrounded them like a tomb in their small carriage, closing over them until the air was thick and difficult to breathe.
Alys began to weep softly. Lizzie took her hands and, unable to find words, hummed a song to soothe her. The music worked its magic, and the older woman began to relax.