Free Stuart, Elizabeth by Heartstorm Page A

there've been MacLeans standing on this
spot for over three hundred years? This was my father's land, and his father's
before him and so on back through untold numbers until the fourteenth century.
That's a heritage to protect, lass."
    Anne
studied his proud, dark head and the arrogant set of his wide shoulders,
thinking the future of his clan was in very good hands. She leaned back
comfortably against the rocks, thankful he had brought her to this secret place
at the top of the world. If only she might have stayed there, away from the
loneliness and confusion below. Unwillingly, her thoughts turned to her father
and his treacherous dealings. "Why does my father hate you so?"
    MacLean
scowled and the peaceful magic of the day shattered abruptly. "The man wants
the whole of Scotland beneath his heel. He tolerates those who cower and submit
meekly to his orders. But if a man stand up and dare to act a man, he's like to
find himself branded traitor or have his family dragged off to prison on any
trumped up charge."
    Gazing
at MacLean, Anne couldn't imagine him cowering before anyone. The thought of
him in her father's power was like the sudden, sharp throb from a painful
wound. "Donald says my father plans to hang you," she ventured.
"Won't your raid give him added reason?"
    "Glenkennon
needs no excuses for what he does. God's blood, if he gets his hands on an
enemy, he simply invents a crime they're guilty of! Convenient, is it
not?" he questioned with a harsh laugh.
    "Will
he be coming for me soon?" Anne gazed across the rugged headlands, finding
the thought far more unwelcome than it had been just three days earlier.
    "He
doesn't know where you are yet, lass," MacLean said low, the mocking smile
returning to his face. "I decided we'd let him fret a while before sending
him news you're happily visiting relations here in the North."
    "And
if he harms your family meanwhile?"
    MacLean
gave her a flinty smile. "He won't dare." Standing abruptly, he drew
her to her feet, steadying her with a hand against her shoulder. His
penetrating eyes scanned her face, an unreadable expression burning in their
depths. "You'd best be prepared to stay with us several weeks, Anne
Randall. Do you think you can stomach me?"
    "If
you'll remember your manners, sir," she quipped, stepping back.
    He
threw back his head with a hearty laugh. "I'll do my poor best, mistress,
but I make no rash promises." He took her arm as though to lead her back
to the horses, but for several seconds neither one moved.
    Anne
met his eyes uneasily. As she explored their blue depths, the world around her
seemed to fade so that even the eternal sound of the wind ceased to be.
    The
easy laughter disappeared slowly from MacLean's dark face. He leaned toward
her, his strong fingers tightening around her arm, drawing her closer. His eyes
half closed, their intensity shadowed by a sweep of heavy lashes no man had the
right to have.
    For
a moment Anne was capable of no rational thought. Leaning forward
instinctively, she was aware only of the pounding of her heart and of a sudden
lack of air to her lungs. Then the feel of his hands on her arms reminded her
of another afternoon—another day on a windswept moor when she had skirted the
edge of disaster by a narrow margin.
    At
the memory, a wave of suspicion swept her. MacLean was her enemy, sworn to
revenge against her father. And she was a fool for riding out with him alone.
Stumbling back, she jerked against his hold.
    MacLean
released her abruptly. She backed away a few paces, gazing up at him with wide,
distrustful eyes.
    "Forgive
me, lass, I'd no desire to frighten you," he said softly.
    Seconds
passed. The silence stretched uncomfortably between them. He turned toward the
horses, casually holding out an arm. "Come lass, take my hand," he
said, matter-of-factly. "Your boots weren't meant for climbing, and we'd
best be getting back."
    Returning
to Camereigh by another path, they traced their way through rich,