CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“It’s very dark out there,” Callum said when John found the Macleod in the tavern to tell him he was leaving for Carraig Brigh at once, even though it was nearly midnight. “There’ll be brigands on the roads. Ye should wait until morning, travel north with Davy MacKenzie. Or ye could sail with us. Gillian and I will be leaving for Glen Iolair tomorrow morning. We could call at Carraig Brigh on the way.”
She was leaving so soon? John swallowed. “I won’t sail,” he said stubbornly.
“Then ye could wait and bid Gillian farewell at the dock. Things may not have turned out as planned, but she’ll want to thank ye. I wonder who—”
“You can say my farewells for me,” John interrupted. “It’s a long ride to Carraig Brigh, and I’m in a hurry.” If he saw her again, saw love in her eyes, it would destroy him. Was leaving in the middle of the night really the honorable way out?
He hated honor, traditions, clan rules, and codes of gentlemanly conduct. He’d grown up watching his father take whatever he wanted, with no regard for love, human kindness, or generosity because he’d been born to privilege, was an aristocrat, a peer of the realm. He expected his sons to be the same. John had returned from the New World ready to do his duty, to be a good son, but it hadn’t been enough. He could never be worthy. Even in his own home he was an outsider, a stranger.
But Gillian had a place, people who loved her, who’d fight for her. He counted himself among them, but no one else would. She’d be as much an outcast as he was. Daniel had loved him, had chosen to leave with him, to spurn his title, his inheritance, risk their father’s wrath to make a new life.
It had killed him.
John wouldn’t let Gillian make the same sacrifice.
“Gillian!” he heard surprise in Callum’s voice. Had John spoken his thoughts out loud? But she was here, standing in front of him. Callum was on his feet before he could move.
“What are ye doing here? This is no place for ye!” Callum said, looking around the tavern at the rough, drunken men, the low rogues, the whores and sailors. There wasn’t the slightest bit of fear in her face as she folded back the hood of her dark cloak. Her russet hair glowed in the low light, and he heard a low murmur rise in the room. She kept her eyes on him. He could smell her perfume, the sweet Highland fragrance of her, even here, in a fetid tavern. He didn’t move.
“Why have ye come?” Callum asked her again, one hand on his dirk now, the other wrapped protectively around her arm.
“I came to see John.”
Callum gaped at her “The Sassen—” he lowered his voice. “Ye came to seeJohn? Why?”
“To tell him he’s an idiot.”
John watched slow realization dawn in Callum’s eyes. “AchDhia, Gilly—it isn’t him, is it? The man ye said ye loved?” John heard dismay in the Scot’s tone.
She didn’t reply. She looked only at John, burning a hole in his soul.
Callum let out a long sigh. “Your father won’t like it.”
“He’ll hate it,” John said.
“Hold your tongue,” Callum warned him. “Ye’ve bewitched her.”
“Nay. She bewitched me,” he said, his eyes on her. He couldn’t seem to look away. “Never kiss a lass in a mask.”
“Kiss—yekissedher?” John felt Callum’s fists gripping his shirtfront and he waited for the punch to come.
“I kissed him back,” Gillian said quickly. Callum’s fist stopped in mid-air.
“Damn it, Gilly, I was just starting to like the bastard, Sassenach or no’. You’re not here to elope, are ye?”
Her chin rose. “I came because I wanted to tell him something.”
“What?” Callum asked.
“Can I have a moment alone with John, Callum?”
Callum scowled at her. “Nay. Ye’re going home, right now. Laire is probably beside herself.”
“Did you climb out the window again?” John asked, unable to resist, playing the rogue, though his heart was in his throat just looking at her.
“Nay. I was expecting that you’d be climbing in my window this time.”
