Beloved Imposter (42 page)

“Be careful, James,” his father warned him. “You cannot underestimate the Macleans. They have been killing and raiding Campbells for years.”

“As Campbells have raided and killed them. The new laird, Rory Campbell, wants an end to it. He wants peace.”

“By kidnapping my niece and imprisoning my son?”

It was time to explain everything. Jamie honestly did not know what his father would do, or say. He might well be disowned for plotting with Macleans.

“The Maclean had nothing to do with kidnapping Felicia. His men took her, thinking she was Janet Cameron, to bring him a bride. He wanted to return her immediately, but Felicia did not wish to go. I understand she feigned an illness.”

Angus stared at him in horror. “She preferred the Macleans to Dunstaffnage?”

“To Morneith, aye.”

“They took you,” Angus blustered.

“I trespassed on their land looking for her. What would you do if you found a Maclean on Campbell land?” His gaze riveted on his father’s face. “I did not escape only with the help of Lachlan Maclean. Rory Maclean planned it.”

“In God’s name, to what end?”

“To reveal Morneith as a traitor. And to protect Felicia. We needed time. If Felicia was held for ransom at Inverleith, Morneith could not claim her.” He hesitated because he did not know how his next words would be taken.

He would have to trust that Angus Campbell could stifle his hatred of the Macleans long enough to discover where his own best interest lay.

“I told you I heard news of Morneith’s treason in London. I did not. Rory Maclean learned of it in France. It came from French spies in the London court. But the Maclean knew you would not believe him. Nor would he have the access to Morneith that I do.”

His father stared at him in disbelief. “You plotted with the Macleans against one of the king’s favorites? You lied to me?”

“How long will he be a favorite if he is proved a traitor?” Jamie asked. “And how grateful would the king be if you revealed the plot? As for the lie, it was necessary. You would not have believed a Maclean. But now you’ve heard Cameron. You know someone tried to kill me.”

He watched his father struggle with decades of hate for Macleans and his loyalty to King James.

His father sat down heavily and leaned on the cane he now used to offset the gout. His eyes were lined with red streaks from lack of sleep because of the pain. Jamie remembered another man, a robust soldier and rider, and he was struck by the change. He had not noticed how stark it was until now.

“You risk your heritage by allying yourself with the Macleans.” Angus Campbell still was not quite able to wrap his mind around Jamie’s revelations. “And by lying to me. There is always Neil.” Neil was his father’s nephew, the nearest male relative next to Jamie.

“Aye, you could,” Jamie said. “But you taught me to honor courage and loyalty. Lachlan Maclean saved my life twice. He will probably lose his arm. He might lose his life. Rory Maclean has risked the wrath of his king, and yourself, to reveal a traitor.”

His father sighed wearily. “I have a debt then.”

“Aye, and so do I. To the Macleans and to Felicia. I cannot believe you would sacrifice her to a monster to further your aims. You must have known his last wife died suspiciously.”

“The king—”

“You are the closest man to the king. He would have listened to you if you had fought him on this.”

“One does not fight with his king. He serves him.”

“Do you serve him by letting a traitor remain in his midst?”

The fight seemed to fade from his father’s face. Jamie realized again how old he looked, and ill. Fear struck him. Had that been why his father had approved the marriage? He had been too ill to fight?

Jamie had not seen his father often in the past several years. He had stayed mostly at Dunstaffnage, while his father had taken up residence in Edinburgh, and what few visits Jamie made had been brief. He had been surprised when he had been sent to London to deliver a message of congratulations to King Henry. It had not made sense to him. Now it did. His father had been preparing him to assume a place next to the king in the event he could not. It had not been Felicia at all, though his absence would also have been a convenience.

“You trust the Macleans?” his father finally said, surrendering.

“Aye.”

“You believe you can trap Morneith?”

“He is frightened, or he would not have tried to have me killed last night. I think he will be even more frightened—and desperate—to learn his villains failed.”

“What do you plan?” his father said wearily.

“Another invitation. A threat.”

“From now on you will be guarded by Campbells,” his father said.

“The king returns tomorrow. Is there someone you and he trust completely? Someone totally loyal to him. In addition to Cameron? We will need more than one witness, and one unrelated to me.”

His father thought for several moments. “A Stewart cousin. He is nonpolitical and has few ambitions. He is hunting with him.”

“He will return with King James?”

“He is usually at his side.”

“Will you talk to him?”

“Aye. I will want you with me.”

Jamie agreed. He wanted to take his own measure of the man. The penalty for treason was too harsh for him to risk failure. “I think it would be best that no one knows that the man in my rooms is a Maclean.”

“The men who attacked you?”

“Dead or badly injured.”

“Good,” his father said. He hesitated, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “I will see this man … this Maclean.” He struggled to his feet, pain crossing his face with each movement.

Jamie felt a twinge again. It cut into the victory he’d just won. His father had treated him as an equal. It was the first time in his memory.

“I will take you to him.”

“No, I wish to see him alone.”

Jamie hesitated. He did not think his father would harm a wounded man, particularly one who had just saved his only son. But he also knew how ruthless Angus Campbell could be, and how many times in Scottish history that hospitality laws had been violated, and atrocities committed. Considering the history between the Campbells and Macleans, Jamie truly did not know what to expect of his father.

“I will not harm him,” his father said, reading his expression.

“And the other Macleans? You sent word to mount a siege.”

“Aye, on your words.”

“It was important that everyone believe—”

His father glared at him. “Preparations for the siege will continue until my niece is returned.”

Jamie’s gut tightened. He had won one battle, but he realized the flimsy structure of their plan could tumble down.

Jamie supped with the king when he returned the next day. He was one of nearly seventy guests. He was seated near the high table, next to Ian Stewart. His father, he suspected, had something to do with that.

Morneith was present as well. He was seated at the high table on the left side of the king and queen. Angus Campbell was on the other side.

As he entered the room, Morneith’s eyes went to him, widened, and he turned to the queen, who sat next to him, and said something. The queen smiled, but Jamie noted it was more polite than spontaneous.

Queen Margaret was a renowned beauty, and it was said that her marriage was a love match. King James was known for merriment and high living, and his banquets and homecomings were always elaborate affairs. Tonight was no exception. Course after course was brought to the tables, and good wine continually replenished by a host of servants.

Stewart looked at the bruises on Jamie’s face and hands and raised an eyebrow.

“Thieves in the street,” Jamie said.

“How did they fare?”

“Not well.”

“Good.”

Jamie asked Ian Stewart about the hunt, then listened as the Stewart recounted tales of the king’s bravery in a confrontation with a wild boar. He occasionally glanced up, his eyes meeting Morneith’s. Although the earl quickly turned his gaze away, there was no missing the threat in them.

He liked Stewart. The man had no pretensions, and he told jokes on himself. Yet there was also a solemnity about him, and his devotion to King James was obvious.

The meal continued for nearly four hours. As the banquet drew to a close, Jamie asked the Stewart to join him for a glass of wine in his rooms.

“Be delighted,” Ian said.

“I have to see someone quickly, then we’ll go,” Jamie said. He approached Morneith. “Ah, my lord, I am pleased to see you in good health. The evenings are dangerous these days, are they not?”

“I do not find them so,” Morneith said coldly.

“The city is plagued with thieves and blackguards. I am surprised you have not yet been attacked. I will have a word with King James about it. My father has arranged a meeting with the high sheriff. You and I might trade tales about such lawlessness before then.”

Morneith’s mouth thinned. A muscle twitched in his throat. “I would be happy to accommodate the son of Angus Campbell.”

“Tomorrow. Perhaps you would honor me by supping with me at the Rose and Spur. As you’ve probably heard, I was accosted last night by ruffians, and I think a public place would be more suitable than a private one.”

“I have another engagement.”

“Break it,” Jamie said quietly. He added, “I left some papers in my room. You would not like it if anything happened to me.”

Morneith looked startled.

“And I would suggest that you show good faith in our new business arrangement. The price for my participation has gone up.”

He turned away before Morneith could reply, and met Stewart who looked at him curiously. Then he fell in at Jamie’s side, and they walked from the great hall. Jamie saw Morneith’s man, Cleve, outside. He stood there, his eyes cold and secretive.

Jamie met his gaze, smiled slightly, then led the way to his chamber.

“That man gives me cold shivers,” Ian Stewart said. “I do not care for his master much more.”

“Why does the king tolerate him?”

“He controls two large armies. James is convinced the English will invade. He needs him.”

“What do you know of him?” Jamie asked.

“Just rumors.”

Jamie said little until they reached the anteroom of the Campbell rooms. Lachlan was in the chamber next to this one. His father would probably stay with the king, especially as long as Morneith remained.

Jamie had some of the very good wine he had served Morneith. He poured a full measure in Ian Stewart’s goblet, then one for himself.

“My father thinks highly of you,” he said.

“I am honored.”

“He said you are extremely loyal to the king.”

Ian placed the goblet on a table and gave him a piercing stare. “Of course.”

In for a pence, in for a pound. “I have reason to believe Morneith has been paid by the English to betray King James.”

Ian’s hand jerked, knocking the wine over. “That is a dangerous charge.”

“But not as dangerous as a traitor in court, or on the field. What if part of an army suddenly turned in the midst of battle?”

Ian paled.

“I am not making charges easily. The information came from France, which has spies in the English court. I wanted to make sure before I said anything. I engaged him in conversation, told him that we had friends in common in the English court, and mentioned Buckingham’s name. I also told him I wished the same arrangement he had, as well as some of the gold he’d received. The next night, four men ambushed and tried to kill me.”

Stewart’s face was grim. “If this is true, I will kill him myself.”

“I need your help. Dugald Cameron overheard the conversation. He will testify to it. But it is not enough. The words could be interpreted in different ways. My father also believes it, but the three of us are linked together. I am betrothed to Cameron’s daughter. We need a witness who is not connected to us. I heard you have the king’s ear.”

“I try not to take advantage of it.”

“Which is why my father suggested you.”

“I will do what I can,” Stewart said, “but we must be careful. There can be no question as to his guilt, or his armies might rise against James.”

Jamie outlined his plan.

Felicia turned and looked at Rory as they reached Edinburgh.

His face was tired and drawn, and she knew hers was probably the same. It was usually a four-day hard ride from Inverleith to Edinburgh.

They had made it in three by changing horses frequently. Rory had enough coin to purchase a horse for Felicia. They had traded for fresh mounts along the way.

When they stopped for a few hours to sleep, they were both exhausted. The first time they slept apart, but the second time the wind was cold and wet, and she fitted into his arms. He had wrapped them both in the plaid he had brought along, and despite his betrayal she had felt she belonged there.

Yet he said nothing about love. He worried about her. He felt responsible for her. He lusted after her. She had come to believe, though, that he did not, could not, love her because of his past. He had mourned two wives. He’d made it clear he did not want another.

She was angry. Angry and hurt and disappointed. And yet she was still drawn to him. Every time he helped her mount or dismount, she felt that raw longing and burning heat he always ignited in her. She found herself glancing at him far too often.

But now they had reached Edinburgh. Her uncle was here. Lachlan and Jamie were here.

All she could think of, though, was losing the man next to her. Thoughts of how empty her life would be overrode the anger, the resentment.

He turned his face toward hers. “You will not marry Morneith,” he pledged.

But even that did not matter now. She knew she could never have Rory, Laird of the Macleans.

*Chapter 29*

Rory had never been at court, nor did he know many who had. His shipping offices were in Leith, not Edinburgh.

He could not move openly as the Maclean laird. As far as he knew, King James and Angus Campbell thought he held Felicia. He was very aware of the fate of the first Maclean who had harmed a Campbell lass, the one who had chained his wife to a rock. He had been stabbed to death in his bed.