Rebellion & In From The Cold Read Free Page B

been the threat of war, from the north or from across the Channel. If England was to be made strong, it would need its rightful king.
    It had been more than the Prince’s clear eyes and fair looks that had decided Brigham to stand with him. It had been his drive and ambition, and perhaps his youthful confidence that he could, and would, claim what was his.
    * * *
    They stopped for the night at a small inn where the Lowland plains started to rise into the true Highlands. Brigham’s gold, and his title, earned them dry sheets and a private parlor. Fed and warmed by the leaping fire, they diced and drank too much ale while the wind swept down from the mountains and hammered at the walls. For a few hours they were simply two well-to-do young men who shared a friendship and an adventure.
    “Damn your bones, Brig, you’re a lucky bastard tonight.”
    “So it would seem.” Brigham scooped up the dice and the coins. His eyes, bright with humor, met Coll’s. “Shall we find a new game?”
    “Roll.” Coll grinned and shoved more coins to the center of the table. “Your luck’s bound to change.” When the dice fell, he snickered. “If I can’t beat that …” When his roll fell short, he shook his head. “Seems you can’t lose. Like the night in Paris you played the duke for the affections of that sweet mademoiselle.”
    Brigham poured more ale. “With or without the dice, I’d already won the mademoiselle’s affections.”
    Laughing thunderously, Coll slapped more coins on the table. “Your luck can’t hang sunny all the time. Though I for one hope it holds for the months to come.”
    Brigham swept his gaze upward and assured himself that the door to the parlor was closed. “It’s more a matter of Charles’s luck than mine.”
    “Aye, he’s what we’ve needed. His father has always been lacking in ambition and too sure of his own defeat.” He lifted his tankard of ale. “To the Bonnie Prince.” “He’ll need more than his looks and a clever tongue.” Coll’s red brows rose. “Do you doubt the MacGregors?” “You’re the only MacGregor I know.” Before Coll could begin an oration on his clan, Brigham asked quickly, “What of your family, Coll? You’ll be pleased to see them again.”
    “It’s been a long year. Not that I haven’t enjoyed the sights of Rome and Paris, but when a man’s born in the Highlands, he prefers to die there.” Coll drank deeply, thinking of purple moors and deep blue lochs. “I know the family is well from the last letter my mother sent me, but I’ll feel better seeing for myself. Malcolm will be nigh on ten now, and a hellion, I’m told.” He grinned, full of pride. “Then so are we all.”
    “You told me your sister was an angel.”
    “Gwen.” The tenderness invaded his voice. “Little Gwen. So she is, sweet-tempered, patient, pretty as new cream.”
    “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
    “And still in the schoolroom,” Coll told him. “I’ll be around to see you don’t forget it.”
    A little hazy with ale, Brigham tilted back in his chair. “You’ve another sister.”
    “Serena.” Coll jiggled the dice box in his palm. “God knows the lass was misnamed. A wildcat she is, and I’ve the scars to prove it. Serena MacGregor has the devil’s own temper and a quick fist.”
    “But is she pretty?”
    “She’s not hard to look at,” said her brother. “My mother tells me the boys have started courting this past year, and Serena sends them off with boxed ears, scrambling for cover.”
    “Perhaps they have yet to find the, ah, proper way to court her.”
    “Hah! I crossed her once, and she grabbed my grandfather’s claymore from the wall and chased me into the forest.” The pride came through, if not the tenderness. “I pity the man who sets his sights on her.”
    “An amazon.” Brigham pictured a strapping, ruddy-cheeked girl with Coll’s broad features and wild red hair. Healthy as a milkmaid, he imagined, and just as sassy.