Page 36 of His Wicked Highland Ways

“We cannot leave him in their hands.” Danny, who spoke the words, sounded every bit as desperate as Jeannie felt. “He would not leave me, were our places reversed.”

“Yes, love,” Aggie told him and reached out to touch his shoulder. “But we must think carefully and not just go rushing in. We are but three alone, and the Avries have many men.”

Jeannie could hear the terror in Aggie’s voice. Aggie feared Danny might throw his life away for Finnan’s sake; she loved the lad just as Jeannie loved…

She caught herself up fiercely and slammed the door on that thought. Now was no time to contemplate her tangled feelings. Better, far better, to try and deny them.

For who could love such a man as Finnan MacAllister? What fool? Truly, if she could dismiss that lithe body, the clever hands, the hot mouth, what was left? For those attributes spoke only of lust, and though powerful, Jeannie could not say that would last.

But love? That required caring for the man within—he who had destroyed her—with his ironic humor, quick, agile mind, and the warmth that made him care for those sworn to him. Finnan MacAllister: when he loved he loved hard, and when he hated he hated completely.

He hated her. A practical woman at heart, she could not deny it. From the moment he knew her identity, he had planned every move, every smile, to wound her as deeply as he could. Surely that was enough to make her put aside any soft feelings she still had for him.

She groaned inwardly. What had Geordie written in those letters? She would give much to know, but knowing would not change the present situation.

And now, if she ascribed to the penchant for revenge that seemed to possess this place, she need do nothing save fold her hands, sit back, and wait for Finnan to get what he deserved. Yet she did not think the sickness in her belly would let her, nor the pounding of her wounded heart, nor the look in Danny’s eyes.

Through wooden lips she said, “What is to be done? How can we suppose to help him?” The Avries would kill him, she had no doubt; it had been their one aim these many days. They must kill him, so ownership of the glen would pass to Deirdre.

He might already be dead. Why would they wait? Why not make sure of their quarry once they had it in their hands?

Jeannie’s heart seized at that thought, and she experienced a rush of pain that far exceeded any Finnan had brought her. His changeable brightness gone from the world… There would be no reason for her to continue on.

“I should go.” Aggie, pale of cheek, drew herself up with resolve. “To be sure, I am the only one who can. Dorcas will think I have come looking for gossip. I can get inside Avrie House.”

Danny exchanged an agonized look with Jeannie over Aggie’s head. “But the Avries now know your mistress is in league with Master Finnan. Will they not suspect you, as well?”

Aggie tossed her head. “No matter; I am of little importance. And I might be able to discover a way—”

“There is no way,” Jeannie whispered. “I cannot believe she betrayed him—her own brother.”

“Aye, so,” said Danny, clearly torn. “But we must try. I cannot just leave him there.”

“I will go,” Aggie said again. “Give me a kiss for luck, lad—lest I never see you again.”

The kiss Danny bestowed was long and lingering. Aggie caressed his cheek then and looked into his eyes.

“I am that glad I met you, Daniel MacPhee—whatever may come next. I am glad I carry you in my heart.”

Danny kissed Aggie’s hand tenderly, and foolish tears flooded Jeannie’s eyes. She saw her little maid brace herself with resolve.

“You must come along and keep watch, both of you—but stay hidden until I bring you word what I discover.”

And Danny said, “Just try and leave me behind.”

****

“He is no’ there.” Aggie, cheeks now flushed red as apples, struggled up the rise to the place where Danny and Jeannie waited in concealment. “No one is there save the Dowager and her servants. Dorcas thinks they are all at Dun Mhor.”

“But”—Jeannie struggled with it—“Dun Mhor was put to flame.”

“Damaged, but not burnt down,” said Danny, bringing to mind what Finnan had told Jeannie. “Most of it still stands, if gutted. That place will be full of meaning to them—the seat of MacAllister power. They must hold him there.”

“Alive?” Jeannie turned her eyes on Aggie. “Did Dorcas know that?”

Aggie shrugged and shook her head.

“Aye, well,” Danny breathed, “we must go there, see—”

“Wait.” An idea, or the ghost of one, whispered into Jeannie’s mind. “We cannot go running off will-he, nil-he. We need something with which to bargain.”

Danny lifted his empty hand. “What?”

“Have you a weapon?”

“Just my dirk. But—”

Jeannie asked Aggie, “How many guards remain at Avrie House?” Please God they had all gone with their vile masters to Dun Mhor.

“I saw only one at the front of the house and a pair on horseback riding away northward. Why?”

“Because, as I see it, we have only one bargaining chip—and she is there, below.”

****

“Well, my friend—you have got yourself into a real bind this time, right enough.”

Every muscle in Finnan’s body leaped painfully when he heard the voice so close beside him, and he opened his eyes wide in disbelief. How much time had passed since Deirdre left him? Not as long as it seemed. The agony of his flesh stretched the time; the agony in his mind obliterated it. Now, surely, madness nibbled at him, for this presence could not be as it seemed.

He turned his head on a sickening rush of mingled horror and gladness and looked at the man who sat on the floor at his shoulder.

“Geordie MacWherter—big as life and twice as ugly.” Did he really actually speak the words? His lips moved, but he did not think any sound came.

But Geordie heard. He directed a sorrowful look at Finnan from those hazel eyes and shook his head ruefully. “Look at you, just—pinned to the stones and awaiting death. We ha’ been in many a hard place in our time, lad, but none, I am thinking, as bad as this.”

“You may be right.” Finnan’s heart lurched again as he admitted it. “But how come you here? You are—”

“Dead, aye, right enough.” Geordie gave Finnan another look. Finnan had forgotten how expressive Geordie’s hazel gaze could be, or that his friend could speak many sentences with but a glance. “But should you be so surprised to see me? Did you no’ tell my wee wife you had spoken with my shade?” Geordie spread his broad hands, palms upward. “Well, now ’tis true.”

“I am that glad to see you, despite everything.”

“And I, you. You became a habit with me, Finnan, lad, like wearing an old coat through the sunshine and rain. But you ken the thoughts in your head have power. Think them hard enough, and they will come true. ’Tis why I am here, because you made it so. You maun be careful what you think.”

“I ken that fine.”

“Aye, to be sure, you have always been like a wizard, mumbling those prayers and believing in the magic everywhere.” Geordie leaned closer and widened his eyes. “The magic is true, lad. But it must be invoked with a grateful heart. And hate kills it, sure. The trout told you that.”

So it had.

Finnan’s lips twisted in an ironic snarl. “A bit late for me now, Geordie, do you not think? Wounded—bested—I do not have long.”

“Bested? When ha’ we ever been bested?”

Finnan gave his friend a grave look. “When you were in Dumfries, it seems. Why did you not call on me? I would have come.”

“Would you?”

“I hope you know it!”

“But you had your own quest that led you through every hardship and back here again—you were well caught in the fight for this place. How could I call you away?”

“Because you are my friend, my brother.”

Now Geordie smiled. “Aye,” he said softly, “aye. Is it not a strange thing, Finn? We traveled so long together, yet we stayed so different. For you always thirsted after revenge, and I after love.”

“Jeannie,” Finnan said, and the emotions inside him tangled impossibly: regret, aye, and desire even now. “I paid her right well, Geordie, for what she did to you.”

Again Geordie shook his head. “Aye, you waged a right war against her, did you not? But Finn, lad, ’twas all for naught, for she did nothing to me. Have you no’ been listening? I did it all to myself: I it was who put the rise and set of the sun on how she felt for me, when she could not choose how to feel. I let her decide my worthiness—when all the while ’twas a decision I made back at Culloden that weighed on me. How many good men died because of us, Finn? When I tried to sleep, they would walk through my mind. Even the drink did not chase them, no matter how much I took.”

Realization speared through Finnan like a bolt of pain. “It was never about Jeannie, then. ’Twas about Culloden. But we made up for what we did that day. In the end, our hearts remained highland, and true.”

“Is that what you told yourself? Well, but, Finn, that did not bring back the men we slew at the outset. ’Twas they who haunted me. Sometimes they would sit down next to me in the tavern as I sit with you now, and speak of their wives and children.”

“We were mercenaries, Geordie. Hired swords!”

“Aye, and turned coat—twice.” Geordie leaned still closer. Finnan could see the flecks of brown in his eyes and follow the curl of the grouse tattooed on his cheek. “Listen to the trout, lad. Choose peace. Choose Jeannie.”

“No time.” Finnan swallowed hard. “I am going to die.”

“Ah, and where is the Finnan I know? When have you ever thought it too late for anything? How many times, lad, did you keep me going on a march with the promise of a dram or a rest at the end of some ill-fated campaign? Aye, and now you truly have something for which to live.”

“What is that? Deirdre means to kill me. My own wee sister, Geordie!”

“Aye, for she has chosen hate. There is another path for you, Finn. Listen to me, lad, if ever you have done. I wanted Jeannie to love me, aye. What man would not? But ’tis you she loves.”

Finnan closed his eyes on a terrible rush of pain. “Loved. No more, Geordie. I ha’ destroyed all that, if ever it was true.”

“If you think so, then you do not know the woman she is. Her heart may be hard won—the gods know I could not claim it. But once won, ’tis bestowed for good and all. She loves you, Finn. She loves you yet. And you love her. You need to admit it.”

“I have lost everyone I loved. My da and my mother. You. And now Deirdre. ’Tis safer not to love.”

“Safer, aye, maybe. But I can tell you, for I know—in the end ’tis the one thing that matters and worth the fight, if ever anything was.” Geordie gave Finnan the smile that had, for so many long and weary miles, traveled at his side. “I promise you, ’tis the one thing that can save you now.”