Argyll clenched his teeth in anger. The rebellion of 1504 again. It seemed he could not escape it today. Now even John had become his judge. "I did what I had to do. I thought ye understood that. Or don't ye wish to understand political necessity?"
"I don't see why 'twas necessary to trick yer enemies into becoming traitors."
"Ye were only a boy then. Ye didn't realize the Macleans were daily growing stronger, and they'd made it clear how willing they were to ally themselves with Donald Dubh against the crown."
John snorted in disbelief. "I was old enough to fight with the other Campbells," he reminded his father. "And are ye so sure it was King Jamie ye were concerned for? Ye would have lost a great deal if they’d succeeded in establishing Dubh as Lord of the Isles."
Argyll had not realized his son knew so much about those events five years ago. "Ye're right," the Earl said stiffly, "the Macleans were a threat to my position in the Highlands and I chose to rid myself of that threat. Is that so hard to understand?" His son regarded him intently. "Mayhap 'tis easier to understand than 'tis to forgive."
Argyll rose, kicking his chair from behind him. "Who are ye to question my methods?" he demanded. "They succeeded, didn't they? We broke the Macleans like a dried-out twig so they couldn't challenge the clan again." He had spoken with more vehemence than he intended and had to fight to regain his composure.
John considered Argyll doubtfully. He had always admired his father—his strength, his cleverness, his wisdom. He had shared an unusual closeness with the Earl, who was often too busy to bother with his children's feelings. But he could not forget how Argyll worshipped power above all else; it made his son uneasy. "Ye may have broken them for a while," John pointed out, "but it doesn't mean they've forgotten. Ye just left Maclean. Ye must know he hates ye."
"Aye," the Earl agreed reluctantly, "the man's memory is long and vivid. And I suspect he'd do anything to get back at me.
I sometimes wonder if he won't use Elizabeth—" He stopped when he realized what he was saying. "Ye've changed the subject, Johnnie. My sins aren't important. What I want to discuss is yer temper. 'Tis that which threatens our welfare just now."
"But ye were the one who taught me how to fight for what I want. Don't ye remember?"
The Earl nodded, seating himself again so he could look his son in the eye. "Aye, that I do." He had known from the beginning that as a second son, John would have to struggle for everything he wanted. Things had come much easier for Colin merely because he was his father's heir. So Argyll had goaded and encouraged and forced his second son to be strong on his own. He had learned early to fight with vigor and determination. It was strange, the Earl mused, that John should also have grown close to his mother and Elizabeth. Perhaps it was their influence that had taught him to feel things as deeply as he did. But now it was time for him to begin to control his wayward emotions and learn wisdom as well. "Just the same, there are times when ye forget yerself, when ye act without thinking."
Leaning forward, John demanded, "Would ye have me be like Colin, then—cold and calculating, with no feeling at all?"
Argyll narrowed his eyes in displeasure. "Colin is what he has to be to survive," he snapped. "There's no room for foolish emotion in a man meant to lead the Clan Campbell. It weakens yer judgment when ye need it most, and 'tis no' a risk either yer brother or I can afford to take. Ye can't blame Colin for that." Rubbing his forehead to dissipate a persistent pain, the Earl looked away. Argyll was glad his younger son was different. He liked to think John was more like Rob—caring, and strong as iron underneath.
But Rob was dead. The Earl had actually forgotten for a moment. The rush of grief he felt shocked him with its intensity, made him more certain of what he was saying. John had been ruled by his heart long enough. "I wouldn't have ye follow in yer brother's footsteps, as well ye know. But nevertheless, ye must begin to control yer anger and impatience. Otherwise, they may well be yer undoing."
"Mayhap." John was unconvinced. He stood in order to end the conversation before it went any further. He had heard enough lectures for one day. He started to leave the room, aware all the time of his father's disapproving gaze on his back. When he reached the door, the Earl's commanding voice stopped him.
"Don't forget what I've said," the Earl warned. "And one last thing. We need time in order to do this wedding properly.
Everyone in the Highlands is waiting for it, and we must show them what we're capable of. The ceremony is set for Muriella's fourteenth birthday in February. Ye've several months to keep her safe, and I warn ye, 'twill no' be easy. Until then, she's always in danger. Don't forget that, and don't relax, ever."
Chapter 7
Lachlan Maclean stared at the letter in his hand. He read the message over a second time before tossing the parchment onto the table, then threw back his head and laughed. The laughter ended too abruptly as Maclean turned toward the fire, running his hand through his thick red curls. "Argyll would have me for a guest when he secures his latest possession."
The men seated around the table shifted uncomfortably, unnerved by Maclean's brief laughter. They knew he was most dangerous when he laughed that way—harshly and without real humor. The clan members looked at the discarded letter in curiosity but no one attempted to pick it up.
Aware of their unease, although he could not see their faces, their laird motioned toward the parchment. "Read it. Argyll’d no’ be sending me state secrets. 'Tis only an invitation to John Campbell's wedding."
Maclean's nephew Evan, who sat nearest the head of the table, reached for the letter, then pushed back his bench so he could see his uncle's face. "What will ye do?"
"I’d not be knowing." Seating himself in the carved armchair at the head of the table, Maclean looked at the anxious faces of the men before him. "'Twould be a shame to miss a Campbell wedding. If naught else, the Earl knows how to make a celebration to remember. But"—he paused when a new thought struck him—"I'm no' the man to jump when Argyll whistles. And I've no wish to see him crow over the wealth that girl brings with her. I'll stay at Duart." With a flourish, he took the parchment from Evan and crumpled it in his fist.
There was silence for a long moment while the men shifted again on their benches. Maclean could see they were not pleased with his decision by the way they turned expectantly toward his nephew.
Finally, Evan spoke. "We think ye should go, Uncle. Ye might be able to do us some good." When Maclean did not respond, his nephew swallowed once, then continued, "Don't ye see? We've spent the morning agreeing Argyll must no' be allowed to swallow the Highlands whole, but we can't see where 'tis possible to stop him. Yet here's a chance fallen right in yer lap."
Eyeing his nephew suspiciously, Maclean muttered, "What are ye thinking, Evan? Make yerself clear, man."
"If ye were there, ye might be able to stop the wedding. There's no surer way of ruining Argyll's plans than that."
In an instant, Maclean was out of his chair. "Are ye daft, the whole lot of ye? Stop a Campbell wedding?" He looked at the ring of faces until he had taken in the expression of every man there. They were serious. And they'd obviously talked this over before they came. The idea hadn't sprung into their heads with the arrival of the letter. Well, serious they might be, but that didn't preclude the possibility they'd lost their wits. When Maclean spoke, his voice was barely controlled. "Ye know I'd like nothing better than to hurt the Earl. But he’s no’ a man to let a prize like this one slip through his fingers. 'Tis a dangerous thing ye're asking of me."
"We know what kind of man Argyll is, Uncle. That's why we can't let him grow any stronger. We also know the Earl thinks ye a clever man. I've even heard it said that he's afraid of ye. Surely ye can think of a way to outfox him. Likely he'll be drunk every night anyway, so pleased will he be at his good fortune."
Maclean moved toward the fire, turning his back on the clan members who had gathered from all over the western Highlands to decide what must be done about Argyll. "No’ one of ye, no
’ a single one of ye knows the Earl as I do. And I tell ye, he’s no’ a fool. He knows many would give a great deal to stop this marriage. He knows and he'll be ready. He won't be getting drunk till 'tis safe to do so. And he'll have one eye on me, ye can bet on that. That's why I won't be playing yer game this time."
He did not turn to see their reactions. Instead he gazed into the flames and wished his men were right, that there was a way to thwart the Earl through this wedding. The idea of hurting Argyll had long been one of his fondest daydreams. But he was wise enough to know his own limitations—most of the time.
Evan's voice broke into his thoughts. "Have ye forgotten Alex so soon?"
Maclean grasped the mantel so tightly his hands began to ache. "I haven't forgotten my brother. I’ll no' forget."
Unknowingly, he used the Earl's own words. He tried to stop the picture from forming in his mind as it always did at the mention of his brother's name, but he was unsuccessful. Against his will, Maclean stood again amidst the carnage on the battlefield five years ago. He remembered with the same bitter self- recrimination that he had sent Alex and the others because it would be safe. But he had not reckoned on Argyll's duplicity. Since the rebellion was nearly over, the rebels nearly destroyed, he thought the Earl would let the Macleans reach home safely. James IV had won, after all; Argyll still held the Lordship of the Isles in his own grasping fist. Alex had led the tail end of a bedraggled and beaten army into that glen without fear, because Maclean had assured him he could do so.
But the Earl had decided the rebels needed one more lesson, and his army had fallen upon them late that night. Not a single Maclean had left that glen walking. They had been slaughtered, every last one—Alex and Evan and David and the others. And Anne.
Maclean knelt before the fire, pushing his hands toward the flames. He must not think of Anne, or he would destroy the Earl and himself along with him, and maybe the whole Clan Maclean as well.
When he saw his uncle's expression, Evan rubbed his hands together nervously. He knew it was not always wise to evoke the past for the Laird. It was a sure way to rouse his anger against the Earl, but that anger was often so intense it threatened to harm others besides. The servants here had told Evan about Argyll's last visit, when Maclean had nearly taunted the Earl into fighting him. Though he had not seen it, Evan knew what the outcome would have been. Argyll was getting old and was no match for his son-in-law's ability with a sword. The Laird of
Clan Maclean would have killed his father-in-law.
Evan shook his head. His uncle could be a fool when he lost his temper. Had the Earl died that day, Macleans all over the Highlands would be fighting for their own lives now.
"I assume ye have some kind of plan?" Maclean's voice rose hollowly from where he crouched before the fire.
With a start, Evan sat up. Maclean was wavering now and his nephew had to press his advantage, regardless of the consequences. "It seems to us there's just one way to be certain the marriage never takes place."
Maclean swung around. "Ye're mad if ye think I'll kill the girl. I won't drag myself down to Argyll's level. If that's yer meaning, ye can believe I won't be helping ye."
His nephew stood up, moving to join the laird near the fire.
"There are many who would do all in their power to stop this union between the Calders and the Campbells. The Calders themselves are opposed to it. Perhaps there’s one who desires the girl's death more than we do. Someone who could do more harm than we, so the name of Maclean need never be involved at all."
"Ye're speaking of the outlaw, Andrew Calder, aren't ye?" "Aye. He's already stolen Campbell cattle and horses and a great deal of Campbell gold. And he makes no secret of his intentions. He wants the lass. Once she's gone, Cawdor would be his."
"He won't be getting her. He can harry the Campbells till they snap, kill their men, take their horses, but he’ll no’ be able to get the girl."
"No." Evan smiled slightly. "No’ without yer aid."
"I thought ye were leading to that." Maclean turned to face his nephew. "Do ye really think the Earl would allow it, man?"
"Argyll has a great deal to occupy his mind of late. Besides, he has no wish to antagonize ye just now. What could he do, short of attacking Mull? And ye know as well as I that with Elizabeth here he won't."
Eyes narrowed in concentration, Maclean turned to the men who waited in silence. "I believe supper is ready," he said. "Go fill yer bellies. I must think." He nodded toward the door, indicating his nephew was to follow them.
Before he left, Evan placed a hand on his uncle's shoulder.
"'Tis our only chance in a long time. We must take them as they come."
"Aye. I'll remember. But I want ye to leave me now." Evan went, closing the door behind him.
An intense stillness fell upon the room in the absence of the men. Maclean paced before the fire, trying not to listen to the sound of the silence, trying to think of a way to injure Argyll without any risk to himself. But he found he could not plan the future so long as vivid images of the past continued to flash through his mind. For a long time now, he admitted, the present had meant little to him except as an opportunity for vengeance against the man who had ruined his past. Alex had been so young—only seventeen. The scene of the deserted battlefield rose before his eyes once more.
He did not hear Elizabeth enter and was unaware of her presence until she touched his shoulder from behind. "Lachlan?"
He spun to face her, feeling the revulsion her touch sometimes gave him. Somehow, he always hoped she would be Anne. But no, that was absurd. She was Elizabeth, and Argyll's daughter as well. He stepped back until she withdrew her hand.
"What is it?" He tried to control his voice but could not keep the chill from creeping in.
Elizabeth was not blind; she recognized his distaste for her.
She could see by his face that he was falling into one of his moods. Presently he would begin to look through her as if she were not there. He would shudder when she touched him, as he had almost done a moment ago. Last time this had happened, he had locked himself in the library for a week, refusing to see anyone.
That had been after her father's last visit. She well knew her husband's moods were connected with his hatred of the Earl. She looked beyond Maclean, staring into the fire. She would comfort him gladly, she thought, if only he would let her. "Won't ye eat with us?" she asked at last.
"I'm no' hungry and would be alone." Her husband turned his back on her. "Lachlan—" "Leave me!"
This time she did not pause. Without another word she fled.
Damn the woman! Maclean thought when he heard the door slam shut. Couldn't she see that he didn't want her?
Couldn't she understand that every time he looked at her, he saw Anne's body covered with blood, her face marred beyond all recognition? He leaned heavily against the mantel. Anne. He still remembered her face as it had been before Argyll's men ruined it. He still longed to touch her Highland red hair and watch her green eyes dance. She would have been his wife if it had not been for the Earl.
Maclean himself had sent his betrothed with his brother because he thought Duart Castle might be threatened, despite the uneasy peace. He had sent her away so she would be safe, and by doing so, had sent her to her death. The now-familiar self- loathing began to tie his stomach in knots. Argyll's men had killed her, but Maclean had given them the chance.
When the Earl had offered his daughter as a bond of good faith after the final treaty had been signed, Maclean had laughed. Argyll must be mad, he thought, to first kill a man's betrothed then offer up his daughter as a sacrifice.
Maclean smiled oddly. He had agreed to the arrangement because he believed he could manipulate the Earl through Elizabeth. He had thought the marriage would give him a convenient means of power. It had never occurred to him that Elizabeth would love him. He had not realized that every time she looked at him with softness in her eyes, his stomach would tighten in pain. She ought to hate him; he tried t
o make her do so, but she persisted in loving him, even when he flaunted his whores before her face.
He found, to his dismay, that because she loved him, he could not hurt her. He could not use her against her father as he had planned, yet he could never forgive her because she was not Anne.
Maclean shook his head wearily. He knew he was only destroying himself and getting nowhere. But what could he do?
A spark leapt into the rushes beside him. He watched it glow, then blacken. Evan had had an idea. What was it he had said? Oh yes—the outlaw, Andrew Calder. Maclean stood up abruptly and headed for the door, shouting, "Evan! Evan, we have plans to make!" When he pulled the door open, he was laughing.
Chapter 8
"The Gypsies! The Gypsies have come!" Muriella heard the shout above the chatter of the seamstresses who surrounded her. All morning the women had been here, measuring and cutting, pulling her this way and that as they tried one fabric after another against her skin. Through it all, the girl had stared toward the open door, longing to escape.
The seamstresses were puzzled. Muriella was being given a wedding wardrobe that made their own mouths drop open in wonder. Here in the Highlands, the women rarely touched anything more delicate than rough linen and wool. Yet behind them now stood trunks full of velvets, brocades, satins and even French lace.
The Earl had decreed Muriella and his son would have a grand wedding. He had gone down to the sea to meet the ships coming in from France and brought back chests full of splendid lengths of cloth. Then he had gathered seamstresses from all over the Highlands to make Muriella's wedding gown. The women gazed at the rich cloth with reverence, and though ran her fingers over the velvet with reverence, and smiled at the beauty and luxury all around her, she did not speak.
The instant Megan's cry that the Gypsies had come pierced the circle of bustling women, Muriella moved lithely. Before anyone could protest, she hurried toward the door. She found Megan waiting in the hallway. "Where are they?"
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