The Campbell Trilogy (123 page)

“It’s not mercy I seek, but justice,” he said flatly, his eyes as hard as steel. “My brother will be as good a source as any.” The rebuke stung as it was meant to. But how could she tell him that she wanted to help him, she
just couldn’t. “I will tell him what I’ve discovered and see if it will be enough to convince my cousin of my innocence.”

She looked up at him, her heart in her throat, wishing there was more that she could say. “Will it be enough?”

He shrugged. “It would be better if I had a link to the gold.”

“Or to the person who stole the map,” she said softly.

He held her gaze. “Aye, or the person who stole the map.”

He might not fully trust her, but at least he was willing to acknowledge that it could have been someone else. He’d believed her guilty for a long time—not without reason—and she could not expect him to suddenly change his mind. Even if she wished it.

It seemed neither one of them was willing to take such a leap of faith. Following her heart had almost destroyed her—she could not do that to her son.

But she hoped Jamie Campbell helped—

Dear God.
Why hadn’t she considered the possibility before? Panic shot through her veins. She tried to keep her voice steady though every nerve ending in her body buzzed with alarm. There was no reason to think … the Campbells had many castles. But still her voice squeaked when she asked, “You are going to Ascog Castle?”
Please, please, please say yes.

He gave her an odd look. “Nay. In my sister’s last missive Lizzie mentioned that Jamie and his new wife would be spending the winter at Castleswene.”

No
! Dread settled over her. Dougall was at Castle swene.

Her heart pounded. Surely he could hear it? The sound seemed to trumpet in her ears. Despite the cold night air, sweat gathered on her brow and hands.
Duncan would see Dougall.
Her fingers crushed the velvet of
her dressing gown. Every instinct clamored against the possibility. “I’ll go with you,” she blurted.

His eyes narrowed, her sudden change of heart having roused his suspicion. “Why would you want to do that?”

She didn’t know, but she had to
do
something. She might not be able prevent their paths from crossing, but perhaps she could distract him? All she knew was that she couldn’t stay here and just wait for disaster to strike.

She held her expression impassive, panic turning her to ice. “Traveling as one of my guardsmen, you are less likely to be discovered, and,” she continued offhandedly, “I should like to see my son. After what you’ve done for me and Ella, it’s the least I can do.” That much at least was true.

“And you care whether I am discovered?”

Her eyes locked on his. Her chest rose up to her throat. It hurt that he could think that of her, but what else could he think? “I’ve never wanted to see you hurt, Duncan,” she said quietly. “I’m only trying to protect my family. The same family you seem hell-bent on destroying.”

He gave her a long look, his penetrating blue gaze darkening to black. “Is that the real reason you wish to come, Jeannie? To prevent me from sullying your father’s and husband’s names?”

She flinched. It hadn’t been what she was thinking at all, but perhaps it was better if he thought so. Anything to keep him from guessing the truth: that the thought of him within a mile of their son drove nails of terror down her spine.

I would never allow a child of mine to go unclaimed.
His words echoed in her head.

She lifted her chin, not denying his accusation. “Believe what you will, but I am going to Castleswene, whether you choose to ride with me or not.”

In the end Duncan had ridden with her, though it had meant a day’s delay in leaving in order to organize the traveling party—or funeral party, depending on whether his gamble paid off.

Jeannie’s estimation of the situation was accurate. Turning to his brother for help was a risk, but it was one he had to take. He’d run out of options. Jeannie wasn’t going to help him; he had to hope that his sister’s assessment of their brother proved more accurate than some of the rumors he’d heard. If he was wrong, he was a dead man. He might as well be handing himself over to the executioner.

Though the true danger lay at their journey’s end, the journey itself would not be without risk and Jeannie’s offer to have him travel as one of her guardsmen would certainly help. But he would not have her in any danger. He picked the men who would accompany them himself, choosing the most skilled warriors, and insisted on doubling the number of guardsmen she initially wanted to take.

Ignorant of the true situation, Ella had wanted to come, but the Highlands in the winter were no place for a child—or anyone for that matter. Fortunately, the lass was still feeling guilty for what had happened to put up much of an argument.

The Marchioness had tried to persuade Jeannie to reconsider, suggesting that it was “hardly the time to go
gallivanting across the Highlands on a whim to see her son,” but Jeannie had proved surprisingly stubborn.

Duncan bit back a wave of bitterness, knowing the stubbornness was not for his benefit, but for her dead husband’s. She wouldn’t lift a hand to help him, but she would journey across the Highlands in the bowels of winter harboring the most wanted outlaw in the land to protect her husband’s memory.

Something he was reminded of countless times over the next week. Each time their eyes met, jealousy and anger twisted inside him all over again. He’d thought she’d softened. He’d thought she was feeling the same emotions he was. The way she looked at him …

As if sensing his thoughts, she turned and met his gaze. The pang of longing in her eyes hit him square in the chest with the force of a smith’s hammer. Their eyes held for an instant, before she quickly shifted her gaze, leaving him wondering whether he’d only imagined it.

Why couldn’t he just accept that he wanted something that could never be his?

But he did want her—badly—and her close proximity was testing the limits of his endurance. More than once, he wished he’d insisted she stay at Aboyne—not that he was sure she would have listened to him.

Her constant presence chaffed. Together for hours on end like this … she was the devil’s own temptation. The long days in the saddle, followed by even longer nights, knowing how close she was. Even buried beneath layers of wool, the image of her nakedness was burned on his memory.

He was at the end of his damned rope, pulled taut by jealousy and a cock that stiffened with a sharp gust of wind. He hadn’t had a woman in too damned long and his hand provided only temporary satisfaction. He’d considered releasing a bit of his pent-up frustration in the willing arms of a barmaid, but somehow he sensed it
would hurt Jeannie and despite his jealousy he couldn’t do that—not yet. But to say he was looking forward to the journey’s end was putting it mildly.

It wasn’t just the close proximity to Jeannie that had him on edge. The trip had been fraught with danger and delay—plagued not only by heavy snowstorms, but also by long detours to avoid brigands and soldiers. If Duncan needed any proof that his cousin had not relented, all he had to do was count the army of soldiers scouring the countryside for him.

When they stopped at night in the drover’s inns or alehouses, the talk was either of the MacGregors or of the hunt for the elusive Black Highlander. To some he was an outlaw, to others a hero who’d taken on almost mythic proportions. It surprised him how many enemies he and his cousin had—many people were rooting for him to escape Argyll’s clutches. Though given his cousin’s recent debacle with the MacGregor chief’s surrender and subsequent execution, perhaps he shouldn’t have been.

Duncan kept his head down and did his best to avoid drawing attention to himself, but more than one person had given him a long glance. He could hide his hair beneath a knapscall and avert his eyes, but he could not hide his size.

Then, the night before they’d neared Inveraray, he’d come within a hair’s breadth of capture.

They’d just finished eating—a surprisingly delicious beef and barley stew—and were relaxing before the fire with a tankard of ale before bedding down for the night when Leif rushed in. He’d been on watch and had seen the soldiers coming, but too late to make an attempt to avoid them. Leaving suddenly this late at night would have only given the soldiers cause for suspicion. Duncan knew they would have to take their chances.

But he wouldn’t go without a fight. He looked at
Conall and Leif, telling them without words to be ready. Their long great swords would be of limited use with the low ceiling, but his dirk would provide all the steel he needed.

He found a seat in the corner and kept his face averted as the dozen or so of Campbell soldiers filed in. He was grateful for the smoky darkness of the old stone and thatch building, though the musky stench left something to be desired. The accommodation at the drover’s inn was limited to the chamber above and the floor of the room that they were in, so the new arrivals would be bedding down in the stables. A prospect that did not appeal to the captain—a heavyset, ruddy-faced man with a crooked flat nose that had been smashed more than once, of around Duncan’s age and whom he didn’t recognize.

If it wasn’t for Jeannie sleeping in one of the chambers above, Duncan would have welcomed the excuse to escape to the stables, but he wanted to stay close to her.

The captain took a surly attitude, and started to object loudly. The innkeeper’s efforts to appease the man were falling on deaf ears.

“Who are these men?” the captain asked. “We are on the earl’s business and have been riding all day. My men are tired.”

The innkeeper, a thin, balding man with long wisps of white hair combed across his skull looked around anxiously. “Lady Gordon arrived with her guardsmen some time ago.”

Duncan swore under his breath.

“Gordons?” The captain’s surliness took on a malicious edge. The Earl of Argyll and the Marquis of Huntly might have nominally made their peace, but Jeannie was right: old hatreds died hard. Their identity had only given the Campbell captain further cause to complain. “Duncan Dubh’s conspirators?” The captain’s
coal-black gaze scanned the room. “Perhaps they are harboring the traitor?”

The Gordon guardsmen started to protest the slur, but before Duncan or anyone could object, Jeannie—who must have heard the noise from her room—intervened.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” The soft, dulcet tones stopped the conversation as effectively as a gunshot.

She appeared like something out of a bard’s tale. Her auburn hair was brushed to a brilliant sheen and pulled back at the crown with a tiny comb of pearls to tumble down her back. Wearing a pale ivory velvet gown, she looked wholly out of place among the rough soldiers and primitive surroundings, like Persephone descending into Hades.

The Gordon guardsmen, including Duncan, tensed, ready to do whatever it took to protect their lady. His was the first hand to reach for the handle of his dirk but not the last.

They need not have worried. The stunned expressions on the Campbells’ faces were almost comical. Jeannie, however, seemed entirely unaware of the effect her ethereal beauty had on the men. She smiled at the captain and batted her long, dark lashes. “Have my men caused you any trouble, sirrah?”

The Campbell captain almost pissed himself in his eagerness to assure her otherwise. With Jeannie’s arrival the surly solider suddenly became a caricature of a gallant knight. Jeannie returned his attentions with grace and charm, though Duncan could see that her smile never reached her eyes. Only the slight shake of her hands betrayed her nervousness. She knew well what was at stake.

Thanking the captain for his understanding, she offered to buy a round of ale for him and his men “to help make up for causing them a night in the stables.” The
captain insisted she join them. Her gaze flickered to Duncan before she agreed, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

He seethed in silence as Jeannie flirted with the captain, the soft tinkle of her laugh grating like an iron mace down his spine. The knowledge that she did so only for him did not make it any easier. He gripped his tankard until his knuckles turned white. The damned lecher couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her low bodice and the lush round of soft flesh that swelled above it.

When the captain’s arm brushed the side of her breast, however, it wasn’t only Duncan’s knuckles that betrayed his anger. Instinctively, he lunged forward in his seat, stopping himself at the last moment from standing up.

The movement did not go unnoticed. The ale Jeannie had urged the Campbell captain to drink had yet to completely dull his warrior’s instincts and he’d sensed the threat.

Duncan felt the other man’s piercing scrutiny as he leveled his gaze on him. “You there,” he said. “Come forward where I can see you.”

Duncan’s relaxed position on the bench gave no hint of his sudden alertness. All it would take was one swift movement and his dirk would be buried in the captain’s gullet. The lecherous fool deserved as much for daring to touch Jeannie and for the lewd thoughts that were surely running through his mind.