Laird of the Mist (28 page)

Kate suspected that Maggie already knew. It was clear to anyone with a decent pair of eyes that Jamie’s heart was hopelessly lost to Maggie MacGregor. Maggie’s heart was not faring any better, though she was as stubborn when it came to matters of love as was her brother. Still, it had taken only one very appreciative grin from her admirer, aimed at her unstained face and neatly combed hair, to create the meticulous little hellion lying beside Kate now.

And a hellion she was.

Kate had no idea Maggie possessed a temper that could rival Callum’s! Despite the lovely day, Maggie’s mood was as sour as four-day-old milk. And “’twas all Jamie’s fault.” According to the wee brooding MacGregor, her would-be suitor had found a new companion. A big, hairy, drunken sot by the name of Angus.

“Do not pout so,” Kate said softly and patted her dear friend’s hand. “I am sure Jamie would rather be with you.”

Maggie angled her head and tossed Kate a sharp look. “Then why are
ye
lyin’ here near me instead of him? I have done everything to win his favor, Kate. But he still has not announced his feelings to me. He would rather spend his days with a man who belches more often than he blinks!”

Kate hid her smile behind her fingers.

“I told him this morn that I would prefer it if Graham kept watch over me from this day hence. He had the bollocks to grow angry! But my decision has been made. Graham smiles often, while Jamie looks pained.” Maggie paused her tirade for a moment and squinted her large blue eyes on the sky. “Mayhap he
is
pained by having to follow me all over the blasted castle.”

She was most definitely in love, Kate decided while Maggie went on to list Jamie’s faults. “Aye, you have it right, sweeting,” Kate said glumly. “Spare yourself the suffering of his ungracious manner. Jamie is certainly not what any lass, save mayhap for Glenna, would want in a man. More than once have I seen her ogling Jamie with affection dancing in her eyes. Let her—”

“Glenna?” Maggie pushed herself up and tugged on Kate’s sleeve. “But I have seen her draped over Graham’s arm.”

Kate shrugged and closed her eyes, basking in the warm sun. “Mayhap Glenna would be content with either brother. Or both. Now that Jamie is free to . . .” She drew her shoulders up around her ears when Maggie shrieked, and then she said a silent prayer of forgiveness and one of protection for poor Glenna when Maggie stood up and marched toward the castle.

With a satisfied sigh, Kate rose to her feet and wiped a few heather blossoms from her skirts. On her way to the castle, she waved at the women hanging their laundry to dry in the cool breeze outside their cottages. They greeted her in like manner, most coming—she hoped—to accept her as one of their own. Good Lord, but she loved Camlochlin. She loved the MacGregors, and she loved their mighty laird so much it almost made her weep. She prayed that Callum might someday come to love her in return. Dear God, she would give anything just to hear him speak the words. Misty-eyed, she passed the western wall where Callum usually practiced with his men and looked around. He was not there. She turned on her heel to go search him out inside the castle and stepped directly into his crushing embrace.

“Lookin’ fer me?” His voice was as deep as an erotic drumbeat against her ear, his breath warm as it fell to her nape.

Aye, she loved him well.

“Kate?” He slipped his arms around her waist and bent to look into her eyes. “Somethin’ troubles ye?”

She shook her head. “I was just pondering some things. It is naught to fret over.” She blinked back a rush of unwanted tears and stood on the tips of her toes to kiss him on the mouth.

She couldn’t help herself and watched the sensual way his lush forest of lashes closed over his eyes. His lips molded beneath hers, firm, yielding, while his fingers splayed over her spine and drew her closer. She wanted to live and die in his arms. She loved him, and it filled her heart to bursting.

“Now tell me what troubles ye, Katie,” he coaxed in a low voice when she withdrew from their kiss.

How could she ever begin to tell him the depth of what she felt for him? He would pull away. Tell her it was too dangerous. He cared for her. It was clear, but how could he ever give his heart to the granddaughter of Liam Campbell? Still, when he looked at her . . . She reached out and swept her fingers over his brow. “Your eyes tell me things I do not understand.” The words fell from her lips before she could stop them.

“Aye?” His gaze softened with some deep emotion that made her heart thud in her ears. “Is it so difficult to understand that ye mean more to me than anything I am willin’ to admit?”

“You are afraid.” She nodded, understanding.

“Of many things, but that never stopped me from doin’ them.”

“Aye, because you are brave and strong. But this is different, Callum.” She looked up at him and cursed her quivering lower lip. “This has naught to do with your brawn or your pride.”

“What has it to do with, then?” He played with a curl winding down her temple, her trembling lip not escaping his attention.

“Your heart.”

“Ah, that.”

“Aye.” Kate dragged her sleeve across her nose, then broke free of his embrace and stepped back. “Forgive me. It was foolish of me to—”

“I love ye, Kate.”

Her lips parted, but only a short gasp fell from them. He smiled, and finally his eyes fully revealed what was there all along.

“I’ll love ye until my dyin’ day, and if I have any say aboot it, long after that.”

She leaped into his arms, quite certain that had he been a smaller man she would have knocked him clean off his feet.

Angus and Jamie watched from a parapet along the castle walls. With a world more experience than Jamie might ever possess, Angus waited with relative ease until Callum carried his wife inside the castle before his belch erupted from his lips.

“I think she was the only one in the whole bloody castle who didna know he loved her. Women are thick-skulled. Dinna ferget that, lad.” Angus passed Jamie more brew.

“Aye, thick-skulled,” Jamie brooded and almost teetered over the edge of the wall.

Angus caught him easily enough by the scruff of his plaid before the younger man toppled over. “Hell, but ye canna hold yer whiskey.”

“Get off me, ye flea-ridden son of a barn rat.” Jamie tugged and almost fell over the edge again. His mood was even more sour than Maggie’s. But Angus had not been happier since the day he first broke Brodie’s nose. He’d thought all hope was lost for any more good, clean sport when Kate demanded that he and Brodie quit brutalizing each other. Doom settled over his heart every time he watched his ruthless cousin tenderly kissing his new babe’s head. But now, oh now, a new spark of hope and exhilaration gleamed in Angus’s eyes.

“Did ye just insult me, Jamie Grant?” he asked carefully. He would not want to injure the lad in error.

“I did?”

Angus decided to ignore the glassy, bewildered set of big blue eyes staring back at him, so desperate was he for a hearty fight. He nodded and sent his fist into Jamie’s guts with a satisfied sigh that rivaled any belch he could produce.

In response, Jamie promptly emptied the contents of his belly onto Angus’s boots.

Chapter Thirty-Six

D
UNCAN
C
AMPBELL BLEW DIRT
out of his mouth. He waited in the thick brush until he was sure the MacLeod scouts had moved on before scrambling on his belly toward his men.

Cutting his uncle a contemptuous side glance, Robert realized just how much of a serpent the Earl of Argyll really was. For the past three days, they had done naught but kill until the sight of their own blood-soaked plaids churned Robert’s stomach. He had met the Devil, looked into those eyes filled with raw contempt. Aye, Callum MacGregor thought naught of killing Campbells, but Duncan was no better. Feuds, for whatever truth lie behind them, were one thing. Cutting the heads from the dead was another entirely. And Duncan Campbell had done the like to a score of men already.

When his uncle reached him, he looked out first amid the thick tangle of bushes that separated him and his men from the rocky cliffs of Elgol, then at Robert.

“Now do you see why I traded the horses? They would never make it over those crags. We will travel over the cliffs on foot,” he whispered. “If we meet up with anyone, we will tell them we are MacLeods. If they try to stop us, we kill them.”

Fearing his uncle had finally gone mad—or mayhap he only just now noticed it—Robert was tempted to laugh. But it would have been a joyless sound. He was sorry the poor drunkard they killed the day before had not only admitted that a clan of MacGregors lived on the isle of Skye but had directed them toward the right path. Only sixteen of them remained, and Robert knew it was not enough to take the MacGregor holding, should they truly find it.

“Uncle, hear me,” he tried to explain for the hundredth time that morn. “I do not think your plan will succeed. We cannot simply slip into their midst. Think you MacGregor does not know the faces of his people? I want my sister. If I must kill the laird to get her back, I will do so. But I do not intend to murder this Margaret MacGregor, be she the Devil’s weakness or not. There is no honor in that.”

“Honor?” Duncan sneered. “What do I care of honor? I suffered the greatest humiliation any son should have to endure because of that ill-bred bastard. Callum MacGregor is an outlaw. He defies every decree set forth by England.”

“Then arrest him and see him punished in accordance with the law. Why are you so eager to kill or injure everyone but the man you seek? And why did you not seek him before he took my sister?”

“Enough questions,” Duncan snapped at him. “Get up.” He rose and hauled his nephew up by the arm. The rest of his men followed.

“Do you fear him, then?” Robert demanded, seeing the evidence of it clearly now on Duncan’s face. “Am I to do that which you cannot?”

Chuckling, Duncan began climbing the first of many jagged cliffs. “When the time comes for such a task, I fear your heart will fail you, nephew. But after he cuts the withered organ from your chest, I will prove my worth when I kill his sister.”

Prove his worth? Robert wanted to ask him what he meant, but the path was a treacherous one. He needed his wits to make it up the cliff.

As if to confirm his decision to remain silent and concentrate was the right one, a stone came loose beneath Duncan’s boot and fell, though not far, since they only just began to climb. Nonetheless, it smashed against the serrated precipice and disappeared into the raging current below. Robert made no move to steady his uncle, shamefully imagining it was Duncan’s head instead of the rock that took such a beating on the way down. A short while later, and a bit higher up, Alasdair Drummond followed the rock and plunged to his death. Finally, Duncan stopped the troop and commanded Kevin Menzie to return to Sleat and procure a boat.

“We cannot return this way.” He peered over the edge to the water below. “Hire a captain and return here to meet us. Once we are done, we will return to the mainland upon Loch Scavaig. Go, make haste.”

Robert’s fingers were raw by the time they reached a narrow ledge more than one hundred feet above the thunderous whitecaps. He decided he did not care for this desolate place, and then decided it did not care for them, either, when the skies suddenly blackened and opened up like the mouth of some great beast spitting its torrential vengeance upon them. Duncan pressed onward, losing two more men before he conceded his defeat to the elements.

“Uncle,” Robert said while they sat with their backs pressed against the sheer sheet of rock and waited out the storm. “Graham told me that MacGregor and his sister were imprisoned as children. Is this true?”

“Aye.”

Robert’s stomach balled into a knot. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. What else of what Graham had told him was true? “Why was this done to them?”

“There were many reasons,” Duncan said. “Mainly because they were MacGregors, enemies of the realm. The MacGregors have tried for centuries to convince anyone who would listen that our clan had wronged them. They pitifully sought excuses for their savagery against our kin. The Devil’s father was a known rebel who had taken up arms against the Campbells.”

“But they were children,” Robert said quietly, heartsick.

“It does not matter. Liam Campbell did what he wanted to do. I did not question him.”

“Did my father question him?”

Duncan’s expression darkened as he stared out over the landscape that was as harsh as the memory of his father’s face. “He was given his own holding at Glen Orchy and chose not to hunt the outlaws. When he found out about the children he sent word of his protest. He was naught like our father. But my father forgave him.” Duncan swiped the rain from his eyes. “Even when Colin later argued the Devil’s reasons for killing so many Campbells, my father forgave him.”

Chilled by the seething emotion beneath his uncle’s smooth veneer of indifference, Robert turned to look at him while he spoke.

“I think your grandfather was glad MacGregor had brought chaos to Kildun. For it forced his favored son to return.”

“So my father was not at Kildun when the Devil escaped,” Robert said softly, as facts he had never been told became clear to him now. “When did Callum MacGregor put the sword to him, then? You did say it was The Devil who killed my father, did you not? Why did he do it if, as you say, my father did not fault him entirely for his actions?”

Duncan slid his gaze to Robert’s. A trace of unease flittered across his features but lasted only an instant before his cool demeanor returned.

“Nephew, if you insist on knowing the shameful truth, then here it is. Your father was a sympathizer. A fool who received a fool’s recompense.”

“Nae,” Robert argued. “It is not foolish to show mercy to others. Amish and John taught me—”

Duncan’s voice dipped low so the others could not hear as he turned to stare at his nephew fully. “Pray they have not made you heir to such weak-minded sentiments. Pray more that your sister does not adhere to the same folly.”