The Campbell Trilogy (102 page)

“What disadvantage we have in horsemen will be more than compensated by our superior numbers. If the rebels manage to rouse a quarter of the men we have I will be surprised.”

Duncan refrained from commenting on the relative skill of their men, some of whom were armed only with swords or pikes and had probably only answered the king’s summons for the plunder. Huntly’s numbers would be much smaller, that was true, but they would be trained and better equipped.

But that would change. When the king and the Frasers, Irvings, Forbeses, and Leslies arrived they would have many more horsemen. “You are probably right,” Duncan agreed.

Argyll quirked a brow—the sardonic look emphasizing the sharp angles of his dark, Gallic ancestry. “Probably?”

Duncan grinned. Archie liked to believe he was
always
right. “Aye.”

“There’s no doubt about it, there will be a rout.
Huntly won’t escape punishment this time.” Argyll was unable to mask his glee. “Not even James can ignore a conspiracy to take his crown and put it on the head of a papist.”

The bitter rivalry between the two earls was well known. It infuriated Argyll to no end that despite Huntly’s persistent failure to renounce his religion—and his outright defiance—the king continued to show “Geordie,” his boyhood companion, favor. Seeing “Geordie” brought to heel—not to mention laying claim to some of his lands—was something Argyll had looked forward to for a long time.

When Duncan didn’t disagree, his cousin eyed him slyly. “Where did you disappear to last night?”

He held his face impassive. “I was tired. I went to bed.”

“Hmm …” His too-observant-cousin didn’t believe him. “It’s funny,” Archie offered ironically. “Our beautiful young hostess seemed to disappear about the same time as you did.”

The muscle in Duncan’s jaw jumped. “Is that so?”

The problem with foster brothers was that they knew you too damned well. Duncan shot his cousin a warning glance, one that was ignored.

Realizing he’d struck gold, Argyll smiled like a cat that had just cornered a fat mouse. Like many young men recently wed, he seemed eager for everyone around him to share his fate and had been encouraging Duncan to find a wife. “The suggestion of a betrothal between the gel and Colin surprised me—at Stirling I was sure that you wanted her.”

His blasted cousin saw far too much. Duncan gave him a hard look. “Would it have mattered?” he asked, unable to completely bite back the bitterness in his voice.

Argyll considered the question, but not for long. The
answer was painfully obvious. “Nay, I suppose not.” His cousin never shirked from telling him the truth—no matter how harsh. In that they were alike. “How badly do you want her?”

Duncan looked at him, but he didn’t need to answer, the fierce intensity in his gaze said it all.

“I see,” Argyll said in a measured tone. “It’s a pity. Colin will never be half the leader you are.”

“He’s young yet,” Duncan defended automatically, as always fiercely loyal to his younger brothers and sister. He’d always been close to his half siblings, even more so in the year since their mother had passed. His father’s wife had tried, but had never been able to get past her resentment of Duncan’s place in her household. Perhaps it would have been better if his father hadn’t shown him so much favor. But fortunately, their mother’s coldness had never affected his relationship with her children.

As lads, Colin and Jamie had tailed after their older brother, mimicking everything he did—including dragging around weapons that were too big for them—with eagerness that bordered on idolatry. Growing up, there had been surprisingly little rivalry between the brothers, which Duncan supposed was partially do to the age difference. As Colin grew into manhood, he suspected that would change.

It certainly would once he found out about Jeannie.

Now that his anger had waned, Duncan could see that Colin was not to blame for what had happened. While at Stirling, Duncan had taken care to keep his interest in Jeannie to himself. That his brother had taken one look at her and fallen in love … well, he could hardly blame him.

Duncan frowned, realizing he hadn’t considered that his brother might have feelings for the lass. He would have to do what he could to ensure that Colin understood that there was never an intention to hurt him.

But he knew Colin. His quick-tempered younger brother would be furious.

“So this problem with the lass,” Argyll said. “Is that why you are not riding beside your father?”

Duncan looked over his shoulder, through the dust and throngs of soldiers, catching sight of Colin and his father riding side-by-side near the rear of the clan. Aye, he’d purposefully avoided both of them, exchanging only a few words since the feast yesterday. The chill between him and his father had not waned the last two weeks. He raised a brow. “Do you not enjoy my company, cousin?”

“Better than most, I suppose,” Archie said wryly. All jesting, however, fell by the wayside with his next words. “Whatever problems you have with your father, keep it away from the battlefield and do not let it interfere with your duty.” His dark eyes gleamed hard, like two pieces of polished onyx. “I won’t let anything get in the way of seeing Huntly brought to heel—especially not a disagreement over a lass.”

Duncan gave him a hard glare, forgiving his cousin for the slight only because he knew of the treacherous circumstances in which Archie had recently found himself, at the center of an assassination attempt by men he’d trusted. Duncan knew how the betrayal still ate at him—and probably always would. “You should know me better than that.”

Argyll didn’t answer right away. “There is no one I trust more, but there is no one I trust completely.” The look in his eye was one of bitter melancholy. “It is a lesson you should take to heart, cousin. It might save you from making a painful mistake.”

Watching Duncan ride away, when every instinct clamored to stop him, was one of the most difficult things Jeannie had ever had to do.

When her mother had left, it had been in the dead of night. Jeannie never had the chance to stop her. To beg her not to leave. To tell her that if she left she would never come back.

If only Jeannie had been older, she might have realized what was going on. She might have been able to stop her.

But she was old enough now. Standing at the window in her tower chamber, watching as the last of the Campbell soldiers and the bold yellow standard of the Earl of Argyll faded from view, she clenched a damp, lace trimmed square of linen in her hand.

It will be all right
, she told herself.

Duncan is not my mother. He will return in a few days and we will be married.

Nothing will go wrong.
Even her father had agreed to side with Argyll and the king. To go against Huntly, his lord, her father must be certain of a victory.

Tucking the cloth in the sleeve of the embroidered green silk doublet she wore over her French gown, Jeannie sighed and started to turn from the window, stopping when something caught her gaze. A movement in the copse of trees north of the castle. A rider emerged, almost as if he’d been waiting for the last of the Campbells to leave, and rode hard across the moors, up the small rise, and under the iron castle yett.

She wrinkled her nose, thinking it strange, but giving no more though than that. After washing the sadness from her eyes with some water she’d poured into a basin, Jeannie emerged from her chamber refreshed to head downstairs. Her father and his men would be leaving soon to join the others at Drumin Castle and she must see to the preparations.

Father …

She forced herself not to think about it. He would come back. He always came back.

She crossed the hall, teaming with servants still busy cleaning the mess from the celebration the night before, and stopped outside the door to the laird’s solar.

It was partially open and she could see a man standing before her father. Tall and broad shouldered, if a bit gangly, he looked vaguely familiar. It took her only a moment to realize he was the rider she’d seen emerge from the trees a short while ago. But the quality of his clothing and the costly mail coat were far too fine to be that of a messenger.

She raised her hand to knock, hesitating. The rider had turned slightly and removed his steel bonnet, revealing thick waves of golden blond hair damp with sweat. Jeannie smothered a gasp with her hand.

She recognized him. Francis Gordon, the Earl of Huntly’s second son. They’d met a few times over the years before the feuding had begun. She’d thought him handsome, in the way that a young girl fancies a lad half-a-dozen years older. Now, compared to Duncan’s dark masculine beauty, he seemed almost pretty. But Francis had always been kind to her, making it a point to smile and wink when he caught her staring at him.

Her heart pounded. What could he be doing here? Looking around furtively, seeing that no one was paying attention to her, impulsively she slipped into the shadows behind the door.

“You took a risk,” she heard her father say. “What if someone had seen you?”

“I was careful,” Francis said, his tone dismissive.

“You came alone?”

“I thought it best. My men are waiting for me in the forest.”

“Aye, the fewer people who know the better. I don’t want to take a chance of Argyll or the king getting word before it is done.”

Before what is done? Jeannie feared that she didn’t
want to know. Francis Gordon’s presence did not augur well.

“So we are agreed,” Francis said. “You will wait for our signal. When the first cannon shot is fired, you and your men will retreat.”

Huntly had cannon?
Dear God.

She waited for her father to deny the treachery, but was to be disappointed.

“Aye.” Her heart sank. “A War Council will be held at Drumin tonight. Argyll is eager to battle. I’ll see what I can do to encourage him and send word when I can about the battle plan.” Jeannie sagged against the cold stone wall, not wanting to believe what she was hearing—her father intended to join the Gordons and betray the Campbells.

She listened in a daze as they discussed more details of the battle, including Huntly’s intention to move on the much larger force. A move that was sure to enrage Argyll. It wasn’t until her name was mentioned that she snapped out of her horrified stupor.

“And the lass is amenable to the arrangement?” Francis urged.

Her father hesitated. “Jean is a good girl, she will do her duty.”

Francis’s voice sharpened. “You mean you haven’t told her yet.”

“I thought it better to wait. I didn’t want to risk an accidental slip of the tongue.”

Jeannie frowned at the implication. She could keep a secret.

“I’ll not take an unwilling wife—betrothal or not.”

Wife? The blood drained from her face and her heart jolted to an abrupt stop. Her father had betrothed her not to Colin Campbell, but to Huntly’s son?

Her father started to offer him assurances, but Jeannie
had heard enough. She slipped out from behind the door and moved into the hall, too stunned to think clearly.

Her mind raced, thousands of possibilities converging in the realization that she couldn’t let this happen. Her father’s betrayal of the Campbells would forever doom her future with Duncan. Worse, her father’s retreat would put the Campbell forces at grave risk. Men would die.

Duncan
could die.

She bided her time, knowing what she had to do. When she saw Francis Gordon slip out of the laird’s solar, she took a deep breath and walked into the room he’d just departed.

Seated in a large chair opposite the cold fireplace, her father appeared to be in deep thought and didn’t notice her right away. She sniffed, smelling the strong peaty scent of
uisge-beatha.
Sure enough, he held a half-filled glass in his hand.

It gave her hope. Perhaps, there was a chance. Perhaps, betraying the king and the Campbells did not sit as easily with him as he wanted Francis Gordon to think.

“Father.”

He looked up sharply, startled to see her.

“What is it, Jeannie lass? I’m busy.”

She wanted to present a carefully reasoned argument about why he should not go through with it, but her emotions got the better of her. She gazed entreatingly at the man she’d always thought a noble knight. At the familiar dark hair dusted with gray, at the green eyes so like her own, at the well-worn, handsome face, and simply blurted, “What you are planning … you can’t do this.”

His eyes scanned her pale face, then narrowed. “Listening at doors, daughter? Aren’t you too old for that? Spies are tossed in the dungeon.”

Jeannie ignored his anger, rushed toward him, and fell
to her knees before him, taking his hand in hers. “Oh, father, I’m so scared. What of the king? He will be furious with you.”

“Hush, lass. You don’t know of what you speak. The king isn’t eager to destroy Huntly, no matter what the Kirk would like. It’s Argyll at the head of this war and I’ll take my chances with Huntly over an untried youth.”

“But men will be killed.”

“It’s war, Jeannie. Killing is to be expected.” He waved her away, clearly preoccupied and in no mood to appease his daughter. “Return to your chamber. This has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me!” she protested. “I will not marry Francis Gordon. I don’t love him.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“Love?” her father shouted scornfully, the years of bitterness at her mother’s betrayal erupting in an angry storm. “Love has nothing to do with marriage. This alliance will bind our clans together and end the feuding. You will have more wealth than you can imagine. Enough of this sniveling about love. The contracts have been signed and I expect you to do your duty as you’ve been raised to do.”

Jeannie shook her head, never had she heard her father sound so unfeeling. “I can’t.” She bit her lip, knowing this was the worst possible time in which to reveal her love for Duncan, but she had no choice. Otherwise it could be too late. “I”—her voice broke—“I love another.”

Her father snatched his hand away from hers and peered down at her coldly. “Who?”