Laird of the Mist (31 page)

Duncan’s regard on her grew so dark, Kate thought he was going to haul her over the side. She waited, unafraid. She had no weapon but her feet, and she would use them to render his male organ useless for the next fortnight.

“Your concern for them is most alarming, niece,” he said, remaining where he was.

“You find so many things alarming, Uncle,” she retorted icily. “But I am no coward.”

Duncan wanted to strike her for her cheek, but he would wait until she was in his bed. He felt too jubilant at his own cunning to do anything but grin. He’d outfoxed the Devil! He had walked straight onto MacGregor land and taken his niece from under the rebel’s nose. Hell, but he was clever . . . and braw! His father would even have to admit it, were he alive . . . the bastard. Aye, he had stepped into the hornet’s nest with the courage of a thousand men and walked away unscathed and taken back his pride. He almost laughed at how easy it had been. Colin would never have had the resolve to do such a thing. But then, most sympathizers were afraid of the MacGregors. It was why they aided the outlaws. Liam Campbell despised sympathizers, save one.

Duncan let his eyes graze over Kate’s fine curves. He would not be so forgiving.

Robert Campbell was so relieved to be off his battered feet and on a horse that every so often he almost forgot he was riding with a troop of the most aggressive outlaws ever to inhabit Scotland. Remembering was simple enough, though. All he had to do was cast his glance left or right, in front or behind him. They were everywhere, and according to Graham, the MacGregors of Rannoch would meet up with them once they left Skye and entered the main Highlands. That they did so on horseback and not by boat was because there simply were none large enough at Camlochlin to bear the weight of the horses, and they would need them when they reached the mainland. Robert did not think they would lose too much time, for they flew across the landscape like a plague on the wind.

At first, the idea of being one Campbell amongst hundreds of his clan’s centuries-long enemy chilled Robert’s bones to the marrow. But traveling with them was quite different than when he had fought them at Kildun. They were a rowdy bunch, most certainly, and definitely hard as granite around the edges, but they possessed a wildness that appealed to Robert’s most basic nature. He almost pitied his uncle and anyone else who came against them. They had suffered years of persecution. But instead of growing weaker, they possessed the power of raw brawn and unmatched belligerence. Who, indeed, could stop them?

“How do ye fare, Robert?” The sudden appearance of Graham Grant at his side almost startled him off his horse. Only his sense of pride kept Robert’s exhausted body seated in his saddle. His surprise that Graham would be concerned for his well-being was another matter entirely.

“I fare well. You have my thanks for inquiring.”

Then Graham did something else Robert did not expect. He smiled before he kicked his horse’s flanks and raced on ahead.

They had to stop and refresh their horses by a flowing stream. The decision to halt was not Callum’s, though he knew the animals would never make it through the night at the speed with which he and his men rode them if they did not rest. He also knew Argyll would reach Kildun before him, so he ordered his men to make haste.

His gaze cut to a large boulder where Robert Campbell sat alone. Graham joined Kate’s brother a moment later, causing a scowl to mar Callum’s brow. Graham had pleaded for the lad’s life at Kildun, even going so far as to declare Robert Campbell his friend. He near got himself killed this day by protecting Robert yet again. Callum wondered if Graham harbored some fondness toward Argyll’s nephew.

Curiosity got the better of Callum, and he strolled over to where the two men sat together now.

“Robert was just telling me how his small troop arrived at Camlochlin.” Graham looked up briefly when Callum reached them.

“And how was that?” Callum asked and sat right beside Robert, who visibly paled at the sheer size of the MacGregor laird so close. Callum caught the apple Graham tossed him, tore his dagger from his boot, and began slicing.

“We . . .” Robert eyed the dagger. “We climbed along the cliffs from Elgol to Camlochlin.”

“On foot?” Callum asked, sincerely surprised. “’Tis a wonder ye were no’ killed.” He cut a wedge of apple and handed it to Robert.

“We lost men.” Robert accepted the offering and took a bite.

“’Tis a long way doun,” Callum said, then, “Are ye certain ’twas he who killed yer grandfaither? I’ve wondered who was responsible fer that.”

“Aye, he told me.” Robert admitted and then grew quiet again.

“Ye were correct about yer sister,” Graham said, sensing the young Campbell’s unease and hoping to ease it. “She is quite braw.”

Robert smiled before he even realized he did. “Aye, I told you she fears little.” He looked up as Callum rose to his feet.

“We’ve wasted enough time,” the laird snapped. “Get back to yer horses.” He walked off without another word. When he reached the others, he barked at them to move their arses, then leaped into his saddle with surprising grace for a man his size.

Graham rose to follow, but Robert’s voice stopped him.

“I considered you my friend. The first I had, if the truth be known. You led me outdoors that night . . .” Kate’s brother rose to his feet and set his gaze directly on Graham. “Was it an easy thing to betray me?”

What was there to say? It didn’t matter if Graham liked the lad. Their names made them enemies, made them do things they might not have done under another set of circumstances. Finally, Graham shook his head before he turned for his horse. “Nae, ’twas verra difficult, indeed.”

They crossed the narrows a little before dusk and then continued on without stopping again. Robert was bone weary, but he was grateful they did not tarry. And even more that the fearsome Devil MacGregor was going to help him save his sister.

Chapter Forty-One

T
HEY REACHED INVERARY
leaving a trail of whispered rumors that an army of MacGregors was heading south, unharmed and unhindered by a Campbell knight who led them! Callum would have preferred the truth of it be known; they rode unharmed and unhindered thanks to the staggering fear that settled over anyone unfortunate enough to come upon them. They might be an outlawed clan whose heads were used to pardon the most offensive crimes, but they were bloody fierce, and people knew it.

Duncan Campbell knew it, as well, which was why he had wasted no time in gathering his allies to his side on his journey home. Callum and his men found themselves facing an army of Menzies, Drummonds, and Robertsons when they finally arrived at Kildun. True, the men looked less than confident when they saw the feral-looking Highlanders thundering toward them, each warrior taller in the saddle than the next. But Campbell’s army outnumbered the MacGregors by at least two to one, and that, according to Callum’s way of thinking, was what gave them the courage to draw their swords.

Callum was ready for battle—more than that, he was eager for it. He dragged his blade from its sheath and held it up, ready to plow his way through the wall of soldiers and take back the woman he loved.

Robert thundered past him and tugged his reins to a halt a moment before he, too, would have plundered through Duncan’s army. “Put down your weapons!” he called out with all the authority of a king. “Hear me! I am Robert Campbell, grandson of Liam Campbell, Ninth Earl of Argyll. These men have come here at my request to save my sister from the clutches of a madman, Duncan Campbell.”

“You speak treason against the earl,” one of the men shot back.

“Aye,” shouted another. “You ride with MacGregors and would turn your kin over to them. You betray your clan!”

“Nae!” Robert shouted. “It is my uncle who has betrayed his clan by killing his . . .”

One man broke rank and sped toward the MacGregors and Robert. His sword unsheathed for battle, Callum’s mouth hooked into a snarl as the rest followed immediately behind, emboldened by their comrade’s bravery.

Raising his sword, Callum dug his heels into his mount and charged into the oncoming legion.

For an instant, Robert simply sat atop his steed with a look of disbelief and horror on his face. Indeed, it seemed just an instant had passed while the MacGregor chieftain’s heavy claymore fell upon his enemy’s head, cutting down to between the soldier’s eyes. The bloody blade came up again, and before his first victim’s body fell from its horse, another rider’s head was cut from his shoulders. Blood splashed across the Devil’s face giving credence to his worthy title. A third man only had time to stifle a gasp while looking into the burning vengeance of his executioner’s eyes before he was run through to the hilt.

Angus’s giant sword found its mark, smashing bones like glass under the strength of his arm. And Brodie’s merciless sword left even horses dead.

Fools!
That was all the time Robert had to consider his uncle’s men before ten of them were upon him. He barely had time to unsheathe his blade and deflect a blow to his chest before another swipe just missed severing his arm. Hell, he hadn’t trained his whole life to die after just two battles, and certainly not during one that didn’t even need to be fought! Lunging forward, he thrust his sword into the belly of another attacker, yanked it back, and struck at the next man closest to him. His swings were well practiced and almost elegant in their delivery compared to the brutal skill of the MacGregors. But just as efficient. Until one particularly huge soldier brought down his blade hard enough to bend Robert’s suddenly meager weapon.

Seeing his opponent’s disadvantage, the soldier looped his sword, holding the hilt with both hands, and brought it down just above Robert’s skull.

But the fatal blow was blocked in midair. Sparks rained down on Robert as he watched Graham make a quick end of his would-be assassin.

Within minutes, most of the Earl of Argyll’s men were cut down, with the same savage proficiency Robert had witnessed the first time he saw the MacGregors fight at Kildun. The rest took off running. No matter what his uncle had lied about, he had been correct about one thing. The MacGregors were to be feared.

With no one left to bar entrance into Kildun, Robert gathered his courage around his shoulders and brought his mount to stand before Callum’s. “You may go inside with me to find my sister. Many have died today. I would ask that you spare my uncle’s life.” Callum shook his head. “I fully intend,” Robert continued, “to bring charges against him in Edinburgh. He will be hanged for killing the earl. Reconsider, I pray you. There is no honor in revenge.”

When Callum made no move to answer him, Robert started toward the castle. He paused for just a breath when he heard the conversation behind him.

“He’s a braw lad. What think ye?” It was Graham’s voice, answered a moment later by Callum’s.

“I think he is the second Campbell I’ve met that I didna want to kill.”

“Well done, Robert!” Another voice, this one less deadly than the one before, but no less chilling, halted Robert completely. He rounded his mount and reached for his hilt as his uncle stepped out from behind the western wall.

With his sword pointed at her throat, Duncan Campbell held Kate before him like a shield to ward off the enormous MacGregor dismounting a few feet away.

“Nephew, pardon me for not applauding you and your companions’ swift execution of my countrymen, but as you can see, my hands are otherwise occupied.” Duncan adjusted the sharp edge of his blade beneath Kate’s chin. “I want you to know that I blame myself for what you and your sister have become. I should have known Amish and John would teach you your father’s ways, and killed them sooner.”

Hearing this, Kate struggled to be free, but his hold on her was firm.

“Release her, Uncle,” Robert demanded, “and there will be a chance you will not die this day. You need only look around to know it is your only option.”

Callum spotted the flash of panic in Argyll’s eyes as they swept the ground and the dead around him. Men did deadly things when they were afraid. “No one else here will lay a hand on ye.” Callum did not move as he spoke. “Let her go and we will meet as men.”

“Ah, MacGregor.” Duncan glared at him and backed away, dragging Kate with him. “You mean as savages, do you not?”

Callum offered him a lethal smile. “If ye like.” He spared a glance at Kate. She appeared unharmed. “Come,” he spoke softly, calmly. “Ye were braw enough to take a swing at me once, long ago. Ye have no’ turned coward since that day, have ye, Argyll?”

“Coward?” Duncan spat, enraged. “I will mount your head in my solar this very night. And if I don’t, you will be dead by nightfall. You see, I’ve sent word to our Lord Protector, giving him the location of your holding. I also informed him that you kidnapped my niece, killed the men I sent to find you, and were on your way here to kill me next.” Duncan’s grin was a slash of victory. “If I die, he will know it was by your hand. You will bring the law down hard on your people for many more years to come.” He turned his cold gray eyes on Robert. “I am not the man with no options. He is.”

“Nae!” Kate screamed. She tried to claw her uncle’s arm away, but he dug his blade deeper into her skin. She didn’t care. “Callum! Do not kill him!” She caught his gaze and held it. “You are not what he calls you.”

Duncan yanked her back by her hair to quiet her and then turned to Callum. “You will not be pardoned but by my mercy, if I am alive to give it.”

“It is no surprise”—Robert’s voice dripped with revulsion at his uncle—“that your father found you so unworthy. You are worse than a coward.” He squared his shoulders and turned to Callum. “I offer you another option. Whether he dies by your hand or the law’s, I will be the next earl. Leave him to the law and you and your people will have my mercy.”

“This is why we hang sympathizers,” Duncan sneered.

Callum looked at him with the fury that had waited nine years for release blazing in his eyes. “Argyll, ye should have waited fer me to kill yer faither. Ye knew I would come back fer him. Ye took what was mine, just as he did, and inherited his crimes as I did fer my faither.” He held his hilt in both hands and waved the blade at Duncan. “Stop pissin’ in yer hose and come kill me, Campbell.”