FLAME ACROSS THE HIGHLANDS (4 page)

Chapter Three

Across the loch in Argyll, another hall was dimly lit.  Only the dying embers of the fire shed illumination on the two figures sitting side by side, intent in conversation.  They were two men in the autumn of their years whose bond of friendship had weathered the march of time.  Two bold men, Duncan Campbell and his comrade in arms, Cameron.

"Ye canna do this,
Duncan!  Ye canna do this, I say," Cameron was mumbling.

And who is there to stop me?" 
Duncan was defiant as he stood up, facing the other man squarely.  The years had threaded both men's hair with gray, but he was still an imposing man.  One who knew his word was law.

"You!  Your conscience!"  Reaching out, Cameron gripped the other man's shoulder, digging his fingers into the firm muscle
d flesh with bruising strength. "What ye plan is vile, a sin against both man and God. To marry the laddie to his own sister!"  Like Duncan his hair was silvered, though not as noticeably so, for the tawny strands blended well,  making it almost invisible to the eye. “'Twill be the ruination of Lachlan MacQuarie when he finds out, and perhaps of ourselves as well."  Only Cameron dared say what was on his mind.  Unlike the others he did not fear the great clan leader.

"Do ye think I care about Lachlan MacQuarie?  Do ye not know I
want
to cause him pain?  The same pain he caused me the day he struck down my son!"  The blue eyes beneath the thick brows were slits of anger, an anger that had never dimmed throughout the years.  "Seventeen years ago I foresaw this moment when I took MacQuarie's bairn, his son.  I wilna let any man's chattering cheat me of my rightful due!"

Duncan Campbell had indeed stolen the
MacQuarie's heir, though up to this moment Cameron had never really understood the reason for the heartless deed.  He had thought the matter put to rest.  A son for a son, that was what Duncan had said.  Had he known to what ends the Campbell would go, he would never have involved himself in the deed, never promised to keep the secret.  Had he known the devilishness of Duncan's thoughts he would have put the child back in his mother's arms.  But it was too late now to have regrets.  What was done was done.   When the proposal had been made with an offer of peace he had hoped that perhaps Lachlan MacQuarie would not accept and all would be well. If that had happened,  Duncan's thirst for vengeance would have been thwarted.  Such a hope  was shattered with the return of the messenger.  Lachlan MacQuarie had said yes.

"Nae! Nae!"
Cameron shook his shaggy-haired head, trying once more to reason Duncan's fearful obsession away.  There were more people involved in this scheme than the leader of the MacQuaries.  There was a young girl whose only offense was her clan name.  There was also a young man who looked upon his foster father with a worshipful eye, a youth whose trust was most shamefully being betrayed. Robbie. What would happen to the lad when he found out what treachery had been planned?  It could well destroy him.  "Nae!" Cameron said again.

"Ye hae naught to say on the matter!"  Striking his palm upon the trestle table
Duncan caused all the goblets to bobble about as if an earthquake had just struck the area.  "It will be done, or my name is not Duncan Campbell!"

"And hae ye no care for the laddie?  Think ye not what it will do to him.  Poor Robbie."  Cameron had watched the boy grow up, had watched him exchange toys for a man's
skill with weapons.  Robbie had become an integral part of the Campbell Clan.  He thought himself to be the child of Duncan's sister who lived far to the south.  He and the others of the clan had been told the story that Robbie had been sent to his uncle to be fostered out and raised as a possible heir since there was no man child.  Duncan had craftily weaved his tale so that not a one of the Campbells doubted the story.  No one knew the truth except Cameron.  A heavy cross to bear. Especially now.  "Poor Robbie," he repeated.  He is a good and brave lad.  "Do ye have no sympathy for him?"

Duncan
spat the answer.  "He is a MacQuarie!"  He might have said more, the quarrel might have continued well into the morning if not for the entrance of another man into the hall.  The black hair on the young man's head declared him kin to Duncan.  He was Duncan’s nephew, his dead brother's son.  Ian  was the young man's given name. 

Tall and lean but well-muscled
, he had a strength about him that was almost overpowering. Even his manner of dress proclaimed his self-esteem. He as dressed now in a breacon, a length of cloth wrapped round the waist and belted, a length of which was draped over his shoulder and pinned with a jeweled brooch; a liht-colored
leine
or shirt and a pouchlike sporran made from the head and skin of a badger. Unlike some of the others who often went barefooted or wore
moggins
, stockings without feet, his curans reached almost to his knee and were made of cowhide and held in position with thin thongs to cling to the shape of his leg.

Duncan
looked upon Ian with pride. Ian had been born at midnight the “wee sma’ ‘oors, and thus had been regarded as one who would manifest in later life some peculiar brilliance of intellect or prowess, though allied to a little wildness. As he had grown to manhood it had been proven true. His particular distinction was on the battlefield and he had done the Campbells proud.

It had been whispered that when
Duncan laid up his sword Ian would take his place as leader of the clan. Surely it seemed an honor he could well fulfill for he had proven himself in battle time and time again. When he was still  but a lad he had distinguished himself fighting at Robert the Bruce's side, defeating the English. 

"You sent for me?"  There was a hint of an English accent to his brogue from years spent at the  Anglicized court in
Edinburgh.  Ian  had been sent there  after his resounding show of bravery, to secure a place for the Campbells in the future being molded for Scotland. It had been whispered that Duncan hoped for a noble, nae even a royal bride for his favored nephew, though Ian had balked at the mere mention of marriage.   He was a bold rogue to be sure with all of the courage and stubbornness Duncan possessed.   He walked forward  now with a slight swagger which said that he was sure of himself, used to being in a position of importance and leadership.  Even Duncan did not cower him.

"Aye, that I did. I sent for ye.
"  Giving Cameron a look of warning, cautioning him to hold his tongue, The Campbell grabbed an empty flagon and filled it to the brim with whiskey, a brew of scotch he had saved for the occasion.  "I'm sending ye on a most important mission."

"A mission?"  Ian took the goblet, lookin
g questioningly at his uncle.

"A pleasant one." 
Duncan looked at the handsome youth over the rim of his own flagon, suppressing his smile.

"Tell me what
it is and it shall be done." 

"I want ye
to help me bring about peace."

"Peace?"  It seemed the last word the b
old young man expected to hear. "Peace you say?"  Holding the goblet to his lips he drank deeply of the contents, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I've had enough of
fighting, I want to bring about peace.  I've proposed that Robbie marry one of MacQuarie's  four daughters."  The mouth surrounded by the peppered mustache and beard at last gave in to a grin.  "Ye are to be my emissary, to arrange the betrothal and ceremony. A sort of cupid, if ye will."

"Cupid?"  Ian Campbell filled the room with the sound of his laughter.  "If it's cupid you are wanting then I fear I'm not your man.  Any arrows that I may aim will be for myself.  I do not like to share my spoils."  By his own admission he was a ladies man, one who had left many a broken heart behind wherever he went.  Ladies and milkmaids alike had fallen under his spell.  In truth Ian  had lost count of all the women he had wooed and won.  "But if its a sword arm you need to keep the MacQuaries in line, then I'm your man!"  Holding out his flagon
, he watched as Duncan filled it again to the brim, then drained it dry again.  By his manner and smile it was obvious that he thought his uncle to be jesting.  "A Campbell marry a MacQuarie, indeed."

"It's deadly serious that I am.  The glen has rumbled with our warfare but now I offer peace.  Dare ye to refute me on this?"  Standing up,
Duncan crossed his massive arms across his chest, looking as menacing as he had intended.  He would not take argument from this young pup no matter how skilled at arms Ian might be.

"Refute you?  Nae.  It is your place to d
ecide.  I'll not be quarreling. But it’s glad that I am I'm not the intended groom.  I would not want to settle down with any maiden. With the whole meadow abloom with flowers who would want to choose only one?"

"Spoken like a true
Campbell."  Cameron could not hide his own mirth.  He liked young Ian's spunk. Duncan was too used to being treated with deference.

"Robbie doesna feel that way.  He will do as I bid him." 
Duncan knew well how hard the younger man always tried to win his approval, as if somehow Robbie could sense his so-called "uncle"  had no true fondness for him.  Ian, however, was a different matter.  He was a constant source of irritation and had the effrontery to disagree now and then.  "Robbie will marry who I choose."

Shrugging his shoulders, Ian Campbell threw the end of his
breacan feille
over his shoulders with a jaunty air.  "Then I wish him well in his marriage and hope his bride will  not be too homely."  He made a face.  "Let us hope MacQuarie's lassie does not look like her sire.  I would wish for Robbie a bonnie bride."

"Bonnie or not,
MacQuarie's daughter is the one that I hae chosen.  By first light of morning ye will travel  to the MacQuarie's hall and make the necessary arrangements."

"And will young Robbie go with me to meet the lass?"  Ian cocked his brow in question, puzzled by
Duncan's icy stare. 

"Nae!" 
Duncan knew he could not take the chance of the MacQuaries coming to know the lad, lest they suspect his kinship.  Though his hair was a deep brown it was touched with the MacQuarie red. "Robbie willna meet his bride until his wedding day."  Sensing Ian's scrutiny he added, "I willna place him in the hands of the MacQuarie's lest something go awry.  Robbie is not as skilled in weaponry as ye are."  Seeing Ian's puzzled frown he added,  "Nor as glib of tongue and as agile as ye are."

"Y
ou will have him stay behind?"

"'Tis common enough to proceed
with the arrangements this way. Ye will sign the contract and see to the banns." Quickly he added, "I would protect him."

"I see."  Ian did not envy young Robbie Campbell.  The thought of having a woman fo
rced upon him was distasteful. He would never submit so docilely.  "Then it is up to me to woo the lassie.  I hope 'twill not be too unpleasant a task."

"Woo her if ye like if it will insure a wed
ding.  But hae a care........"

Ian feigned innocence. "Uncle you chide me unnecessarily. I'll give her up to Robbie's arms when the time comes."  He smiled.  "Indeed I can see that I am your man, for I've had my share of practice in matters of the heart.  I'll win Robbie his bride.  You'll have your fine wedding.  I will not
disappoint you.  But I make a request of you.  That I be allowed to take Aulay with me.  In case I meet with treachery I would welcome his sword arm."  Though the man he spoke of was a dwarf, Ian knew there was no finer fighter among the clans.  The little man had fought right by his side at the Battle of Bannockburn.  Aulay was fierce and cunning, more than a match for those twice his size.  "He has been my boon companion for many years."
              "Aye.  Agreed.  Though let us hope ye hae no need of him.  The MacQuaries must be at least half-civilized as obstinate as they are. Let us assume that all will go well."  Once again Duncan smiled.  "Let us hope that all will go exactly as I planned."

A brisk breeze whipped through Ian’s hair as he leaned against the stout stone wall of the castle allure, the wall-walk behind the west parapet. So, Robbie was going to be used as a peace offering, he thought. He had sympathy for the lad though there was not much to be done about it. When
Duncan had made up his mind there was little hope of changing it, though Stain Michael himself declare it a wrongful conclusion. He’d do as Duncan said and hope he would not rue it, but MacQuaries indeed! All he’d heard since he was a lad was a list of their sins; now seemingly all was to be forgiven with a snap of Duncan’s fingers. Strange. And he to be the ambassador to this official act, he who had once been shunned as a lad by his own clan.

Gazing out
past the rocky crags to the meadows and burns beyond, his mind pondered what the future held in store, and wandered over the events of the past when he had been brought to Dunstaffnage Castle as a small boy after the death of his mother.

“What is this?” those were the first words he’d he
ard Duncan’s wife, Fionnghuala utter as she’d appraised him with her perpetual scowl. From that moment on they’d been at odds over the years, her attitude toward him as cold as her ice blue eyes. Indeed, she’d treated him more as a stable boy than her husband’s brother’s son, keeping him busy with lowly chores. His father, deeply mourning the death of his wife, enshrouded in his own sorrow, had seemingly been oblivious to the handling of his son. Taking refuge in ale, he had granted Ian less and less of his time and did not even seem very interested in anything to lad did whether it be for good or ill. Thus, Fionnghuala had raised him, never ceasing to remind Ian that his mother had been naught but a tinker’s daughter with whom his father had run off.