As High as the Heavens (7 page)

Janet must have had the say on how the guests were
situated at table, leastwise when it came to placing Duncan and Heather across from each other, and her
own seat snugged up next to his. For once, though, Duncan actually welcomed the talkative, adoring Janet's presence. It forced him to tear his gaze from Heather at least
from time to time, and saved him from a blatant and
discourteous case of staring.

Not that any red-blooded Highland male would've
blamed him. Heather Gordon was the bonniest lass he
had ever laid eyes on, and he had laid eyes on his fair
share in this part of the Highlands.

Never, Duncan admitted as his gaze swept over her
for the hundredth time as they all sat there, savoring
first a fine lentil soup, followed by a haunch of roast
venison, potatoes, and buttered kale, had he seen hair
quite that fair shade of blond. It was, he thought in an
uncharacteristic moment of poetic license, as bright as
sunlight across the water, even if it was mostly snagged
up beneath that silly little cap all covered with pearls.
And her skin, it fair to glowed with health yet was, at the
same time, almost translucent in its fragility.

Her eyes, sharp with intelligence, were a luminous,
clear blue fringed by dark lashes and slender brows. Her
cheekbones were regal, her chin delicate and held high
with unconscious dignity. Her nose was slim, pert, with
delicately flared nostrils, perfectly suiting her proud visage. And her mouth ...

It took all of Duncan's considerable self-control to
restrain his avid gaze from returning time and again to
those full, elegantly molded, and most sensuous of lips.
Lips she frequently, as she ate, licked with a small, pink tongue, moistening them until they glistened, making
her mouth appear even fuller and more ripe.

Ripe ... like a lush, sweet berry ... a berry all but
begging to be devoured ...

By all that was holy, did she know what effect she had
on him? Duncan wondered as he sat there in a rising
agony of fascinated longing, battling unsuccessfully to
keep from staring at her. More importantly, if she did
know, did she even care? Yet then, why should she? He
was nothing to her save a savage Highlander who, for
some unknown reason, must share a meal with her this
night. There was privilege enough in that, yet all the
privilege to which he could ever dare aspire.

Yet aspire and strive he still would. Duncan knew no
other way. There had always been a part of him, even
from a wee lad, that dreamt of someday being a man of
power and wealth. Perhaps it was why he labored so hard
most days from dawn until dusk, why he did everything
with such energy and devotion. And perhaps, Duncan
realized of a sudden, it was also why Heather Gordon
held such a mesmerizing appeal.

She personified his fantasies, what he had always aspired to, though such aspirations were, in truth, likely
little more than hopeless illusions. She'd never, no matter how hard he worked, no matter how successful he
became, be attainable. They were and would always be
from two different worlds, worlds that never voluntarily
met save in the most desperate of straits.

But, all that considered, something special had flared
between them if only for an instant, when their eyes first
met there in his bedchamber. Still, initial attraction and fulfillment of a desire could be two entirely different
things. A woman as rich and bonny as Heather Gordon
could have any man she chose.

Somehow, though, Duncan couldn't see Heather ever
coming to him only as a casual lover. She wasn't that kind
of woman. And, if the truth be told, for all his blustering
bravado at times, he wasn't-and had never been-that
kind of man.

At the realization, a fierce sense of possession, of resolve, flooded him. Being the man he was and the woman
he sensed her to be, he would-he must-have Heather
Gordon as wife, or not at all.

Even as Duncan took up the idea and examined it like
some finely wrought sword for possible flaws, his father's
words earlier today-when he had joked with his sire
about fate-came back to him. Mayhap, Malcolm had
said, it'll send ye a lass to love who won't love ye.

With an effort Duncan wrenched his thoughts from
what now seemed a prophetically disturbing prediction.
He was being an addle-brained lad to moon over Heather
Gordon like this. And more than foolish to cherish any
hope of taking her as a wife.

To distract himself from his increasingly unnerving
preoccupation with the blonde beauty, Duncan turned to
Janet. At the moment, however, the girl was chattering
with her mother, who sat on her other side. Casually,
Duncan scanned the table. His gaze careened into that
of Robert Gordon.

To his surprise, the man had been watching him closely.
Watching him watch Heather. Duncan went still, every
muscle tensing for attack. His thoughts about Heather had been far from chivalrous, and surely another manespecially the father of the woman in question-would
sense that and be enraged. He'd have done the same, he
admitted grudgingly, in a similar situation.

But, as Duncan held Robert Gordon's gaze, the older
man quickly masked his thoughts and turned to Angus.
Without another glance in Duncan's direction, or further indication he had even noticed the heated looks the
younger man had sent his daughter, much less cared,
Robert proceeded to engage his brother-in-law in conversation.

Duncan frowned. What was the man about, so casually
to ignore another man's bold appraisal of his daughter at
table? There was no doubt he had seen Duncan's brazen
glances. In that moment their gazes had locked, Duncan
had felt like a deer being stalked by a hunter. But why?
And for what purpose?

He leveled another look at Heather, his eyes narrowing. Perhaps the answer lay with her. Did she play some
clever game with him-a game for which her father had
earlier given his leave?

Try as he might, Duncan was unable to catch her attention. Almost as if she didn't dare make visual contact,
Heather assiduously avoided meeting his gaze. But did
the effort spring from a maiden's shyness, he wondered,
or from a guilty conscience?

He wouldn't know, couldn't know, until she-and perhaps her father-chose to play their hands. Somehow,
Duncan thought, glancing back at Robert Gordon and
deciding he didn't like the man, he doubted he'd have
long to wait.

After the sweets were served, Angus rose and called
for a private meeting with Duncan, Malcolm, Robert,
and Heather. They adjourned once more to the library,
where they took their place in the various chairs and a
settle placed near the fire. After the laird's wife had refilled the goblets of claret some of the men had brought
with them from supper, she adjourned, closing the door
firmly behind her. For several minutes, all seemed to
content themselves with sipping their claret or gazing
into the fire. Duncan, though, sensed a rising tensionand a subject hanging heavy in the air that none really
wished to broach.

"Well, there's no sense skirting about the reason I called
this meeting by first spending the requisite time in inane
conversational gambits," Robert Gordon finally began,
leaping into the verbal fray without further preamble.
He glanced at his daughter who sat beside him, smiled,
then continued on. "I had Angus call for ye, Duncan,
because the queen has need of ye."

Duncan went still. This wasn't what he had expected,
though he had expected something of great importance.

"The queen?" he repeated, stalling for time in which
to gather his wits back about him. "Queen Mary?"

"Aye, one and the same." Robert paused to take a
swallow of his claret. "We, several friends and myself,
mean to rescue her from Lochleven Castle. But we need
yer help."

Duncan exchanged glances with his father, who was sitting next to him on the settle. "If it's fighting men ye're
seeking to help ye storm the castle this spring, then I'm
yer man. Is it yer wish I raise an army of Mackenzies
to aid ye?"

"Nay, lad." Robert chuckled softly. "Naught so bold or
dramatic as that. We mean to enter Lochleven peaceably,
and spirit Mary away right out from beneath her jailers' noses. That's where ye come in. Ye look remarkably
like a man named Colin Stewart, a good friend and true
to Lady Margaret Douglas, Lochleven's chatelaine, and
her son, William. We mean to send ye into the castle in
Colin's stead, and, when all are deep in their cups, ye'll
free the queen and help her escape."

"Ye want me to impersonate another man?" Duncan frowned. "And who is he, that I look so much like
him?"

Robert fingered the rim of his goblet. "He's a young
nobleman, heir to Lord David Stewart's fine lands and
holdings in Atholl. Why ye look so much like him is a
mystery, though. I can only surmise it's some sort of
miraculous coincidence."

"Miraculous?"

The older man grinned. "Aye. A miracle sent from God
to save our queen."

"Well, God or no, it all seems too easy, too convenient."

Duncan tried to catch Heather's eye, but she kept her
gaze downcast. Suspicion flared. A sudden surety sprung
from some heretofore hidden place.

She knows something, he thought. She's in league wi'
her father in this. But how, and why?

"Indeed? In what way does this all seem too easy and
convenient, lad?" Robert inquired with a mild arch of
a brow.

Duncan refused to be seduced by fine manners and
calm words. They'd get to the bottom of this muddy
pool here and now.

"How else? That ye would've known that two men
who live so far apart," he replied, "are supposed exact
look-alikes. I'm thinking there's more to this than what
ye care to reveal."

"I keep naught hidden, lad." Robert smiled benignly.
"I've known Colin Stewart for years and, in truth, had
important dealings with his family. And ye know I visit
Angus here in the Highlands from time to time. If ye
recall, I attended a ceilidh last summer in which ye were
present. It was then I noted yer striking resemblance to
young Colin, though at the time I thought naught of it.
These things happen, the rare occurrences of two unrelated people appearing as doubles. I've seen it before in
my travels. Ye'd have noted it, too, if ye'd ever chosen
to leave the Highlands."

Despite Gordon's glib reply, Duncan realized, there
was something here that still didn't fit. Unfortunately,
for the moment, he couldn't quite put his finger on
it. Best to hear the man and know it all. Only then,
with all the facts at hand, could he make an informed
decision.

"I can't say parading around as some noble sits well
wi' me," he said. "And if this Lady Douglas is such close
friends wi' the man, I doubt I'd be able to fool her long
enough to gain access to the queen."

"True enough, lad. As ye now are, ye'd fool no one."
The elder Gordon took his daughter's hand and gave it
a reassuring squeeze. "Ye need schooling in the ways
of a noble and, more particularly, in Colin Stewart's
special manner. That is why I brought my precious
daughter with me. She knows Colin well, and is also
knowledgeable in all it'd take to make ye act and think
like a noble."

For the first time since they had entered the library,
Heather met Duncan's gaze. In the depths of her glowing, blue eyes, he saw the confirmation of her father's
words. And, seeing that confirmation, for a long moment
he was too startled, too shocked to speak.

Could it be? Did Robert Gordon mean to offer his
daughter to serve as a tutor? Did he mean for her to
devote hours, days, even weeks to his training, in close
quarters and intimate conversation?

At the consideration, it was all Duncan could do to
master his excitement. If it were true, his shared resemblance with Colin Stewart wasn't the miracle at work
here this night, but the great gift he was being offered
in the opportunity to spend an extended period of time
in Heather Gordon's presence. Perhaps fate had indeed
stepped in this day, and that fate was smiling most kindly
upon him.