It was a difficult time, made worse by his rambling mind that would not stay a steady course. Isabelle. She haunted his thoughts. He had awoken yesterday at midday, well rested but alone. What had she thought when she woke up in his bed? Why had she not even woken him to say good-bye? She must be furious with him.
It may be cowardice, but he had avoided her all day yesterday. He was truly busy, so it was not difficult to do. He must see her sometime, but how could he explain? He had no right to take her to his bed. Worst part was, if he had the chance to do it over again, he would do the same thing.
Campbell pushed thoughts of Isabelle aside. He must focus on the situation at hand. He may be marching in war against McNab soon to get Alys back and punish him for his compliance in Cait’s abduction. He would punish the bastards who dared to abduct his sister.
“David!” Cait rushed into the room, flushed from running. “David, I ken what we must do to save Alys. We must arrange a trade wi’ McNab. We will exchange Andrew for Alys. Is it no’ a perfect solution?”
“Nay, Cait. I winna bargain wi’ McNab.” He was about to admonish Cait about bestowing her affections on inappropriate people, but Isabelle glided into the room after Cait. She wore an emerald silk gown and her long hair was pulled back under a modest wimple. She was a queen. Campbell poured himself a whiskey and sat down hard on a bench by the empty, black fireplace.
“But ye canna leave Alys to him. Ye must do this!” Cait ran to him and sat beside him, clutching his sleeve. “Please, David.”
“Ah, Cait.” Campbell shook his bowed head. He could not meet Isabelle’s eyes. “I am sorry for ye, I am.” Campbell stood for a moment and retrieved a missive from the mantel. “This arrived this morning. I already sent word to McNab demanding he return Alys or face war. This is the reply.”
Cait took the missive and opened it, Isabelle stepping by her side to read it too. Scrawled in a poor hand was a message from Alys.
Dear Laird Campbell,
Thank you for caring for my rescue. However, I have wed Laird McNab and choose to stay with him of my own free will. To prove what I say is the truth, I offer this knowledge of Lady Caitrina. If you look between her two middle fingers of her left hand you will find a small scar she received when she tried to rip out a seam with her table knife. I told her not to do it.
Respectfully,
Alys McNab
“Is this message in Alys’s hand?” asked Isabelle.
Cait nodded, staring blankly into the black fireplace.
“Is it true about the scar?” asked Campbell.
Cait held up her left hand and both Campbell and Isabelle bent down to inspect the small, white scar between her fingers.
“I dinna ken ye had a scar there,” said David.
“Few do,” answered Cait.
“So Alys has truly wed McNab? Why?” asked Isabelle.
“She spoke of him favorably, that he needed her. But I ne’er thought she would do something like this.” Cait shook her head, her eyes dull beneath red, swollen lids.
“Do ye think she will be mistreated?” asked Campbell.
“Nay, we were treated wi’ kindness while we were there.” Cait’s shoulders slumped. “So we canna exchange Andrew for her.”
David put his arm around Cait and gave her a brotherly squeeze. “I’m sorry, Cait. I dinna like to see ye so sad.” He was concerned by her frank devotion to Andrew and her distress at having him imprisoned. Unfortunately, it was likely going to get a lot worse for Andrew McNab.
Cait nodded mutely and walked out the door.
“Lady Tynsdale, I would speak to ye,” said Campbell, gathering his courage.
“Yes, I would like to speak with you too,” said Isabelle.
“Ye would? Aye, well, I feel I need to apologize for the other night. I dinna intend to… that is to say I did intend, but I…” Campbell rubbed his forehead with one hand and gestured in the air with the other. “It just happened.”
“It?” Isabelle’s eyes grew wide. “It? How could you?”
“I was tired. Ye dinna seem to mind at the time.”
“I was asleep!”
“True…”
“You should at least have woken me up and asked me if I would like to.”
“Ye are verra right.” Campbell’s heart sank. He was right, she was angry at him. He had thought… but no, her feelings did not match his. “I apologize. I thought that since we had before and… forgive me, I mistook yer feelings on the matter.”
“We did before too? I remember some things, but I do not recall doing… doing…” Isabelle flushed prettily. “Was I asleep?”
Now it was Campbell’s turn to be confused. “Aye. People do sleep when they are asleep.”
“What are you talking about?” Isabelle tilted her head slightly to the side.
“Sleeping. Together. In my bed. What do ye speak of?”
“Sleeping? As in actual sleep?”
“Aye.” Campbell drew out the word, speaking slowly. He had strong suspicions he knew what she was thinking, and it was not about sleep. He tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin. “Ye speak of sex.”
“Campbell, please!” Isabelle glanced into the corridor and shut the door. “Someone might hear you.”
“So ye dinna mind speaking o’ it, but ye dinna wish anyone to know.” Campbell’s heart began to beat quite merrily. She did like him. Her blush gave her away.
“We should not.”
“Did ye think I had made love to ye while ye slept?” Now that was plain insulting.
Isabelle looked off at a tapestry hanging from the wall. “But for a moment. Is this not a nice tapestry?”
“Isabelle.” He stepped close and softly brushed her cheek. Her breathing increased, and he shamelessly enjoyed the view of the top of her breasts straining against the fabric of her gown when she breathed. Damn, but he wanted her. “If I should ever take ye to my bed to love instead of sleep, I will promise ye two things. First, ye will wish for it as much as I. And second, I dinna wish to brag, but there is no possible way ye will sleep through my lovemaking.”
Campbell had the satisfaction of watching Isabelle’s blush deepen to the color of a fine wine.
“Campbell.” A page knocked on the door. “Riders approaching.”
“Be there in a moment,” called Campbell.
“I-I need to speak to you,” Isabelle shook her head like she was trying to collect her thoughts.
“Later, I must go see who approaches.”
“Wait!” Isabelle put her hand against his chest. The gentle weight of her single hand held him in place. “I must ask for your help.”
“What can I do for ye, my lady?”
“I must return home to Alnsworth. I cannot tarry any longer. I fear Tynsdale has taken Alnsworth.”
“How do ye know?”
“I had a dream—”
“A dream?” Campbell was skeptical. He needed to go. Who knew who approached his walls, be it friend or foe?
“Yes, a dream.” She placed her other hand against his chest, her warmth seeping through his linen shirt. He could not move now had he wanted to. “I must return to Alnsworth.”
“And what would ye do there?”
Isabelle’s shoulders slumped. “Probably die at the hand of my husband.”
“Die?” Not on his watch.
“Now that he has Alnsworth, he does not need me alive.”
“Nay. Ye will no’ return.”
“But I must do something!” Isabelle dropped her hand from his chest and gestured into the air.
“I will help ye go to the bishop in Glasgow, but not now. I have to settle things with the prisoner first and with Cait.”
“I cannot wait any longer!”
“Forgive me, Isabelle, but I winna allow ye to give yerself back to a man who is going to kill ye! Now try no’ to worrit yerself, ’twas only a dream. I must see who arrives at my door!”
Campbell strode from the room. He needed to see who approached.
He almost hoped for a foe; he could use a little swordplay to work off the heat she raised in him.
Campbell shook his head as he walked up the stone staircase to the wall walk. Battles he could fight and win, but when it came to affairs of the heart, he was outside his depth. He stood on the battlements of the outer wall and turned his focus to the party advancing on Innis Chonnel. The banner waved defiantly in the wind. It was the Douglas.
Campbell inwardly groaned and gripped the stone battlements wondering what ploy he could use to avoid his impending nuptials. He considered for a moment having his steward tell Douglas that he was away hunting… on an extended trip. But that was pure cowardice. He counted the men Douglas brought with him and wondered how much he valued his courage. Sometimes being a knight was a pure pain.
Campbell heard light footsteps behind him and assumed the page had followed him up. “Tell Mairi to prepare for our guests and that the lads will have to double-up.”
“We’re already double-upped,” protested Rabbie.
Campbell turned and saw his errant youngest brother. “Should ye no’ be in bed?”
“Nay,” said Rabbie defensively.
“Did Mairi let you out?”
Rabbie’s eyes widened and he paused considering his answer.
“Dinna answer if ye’re going to lie to me,” said Campbell, turning back to his approaching houseguests.
“Who’s coming?” asked Rabbie.
“See for yerself. ’Tis the banner o’ the Douglas.”
“Which one is he?”
“Fourth one back. He has the fanciest cape and the tallest horse. Oh, nay, it canna be.” Campbell shielded his eyes against the sun, straining to get a better look and hoping that he did not see what he thought he saw. He cursed softly under his breath.
“What did ye say?” asked Rabbie.
Not softly enough. “I said behind him rides the Lady Eileen, daughter to the Douglas.”
“Is that the one ye’re supposed to marry?”
“Aye,” said Campbell, but it came out as more of a grunt.
Campbell leaned against the battlements and scowled into the sun at the approaching line of unwanted visitors. What was he going to do? Douglas clearly felt it was time for him to wed and was pressing the issue. But choosing a bride meant choosing a side in a struggle for power that may soon turn bloody.
“They sure have brought a lot of stuff,” said Rabbie.
He was right, wagons of supplies followed the Douglas. “Some nobles travel with their own furniture, beds and such, so they will be comfortable where’er they go.” And Lady Eileen no doubt expected to be the Lady Campbell soon.
Campbell groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. Was it too late to use that hunting excuse? Trouble was he was on an island and they would notice if he took the ferry over. Perhaps Isabelle could figure a way off the island. She was always creative in a devious sort of way.
Campbell shook his head at himself. Sheer cowardice. Besides, he doubted he would even fit in a pickle barrel.
“Go find Mairi and help wi’ the preparations. Tell her I’ll await the Douglas in my solar.”
Rabbie went pale. “I have to find Mairi?”
Campbell smiled at his brother. “So that’s the way it is. Ne’er ye mind, go to bed wi’ ye and I’ll find Mairi.”
Campbell dispatched his errands in a timely manner, finding Mairi had things well in hand. He walked to his solar, meeting Jacques, the minstrel, on the stair. Jacques was dressed in his colorful attire, a satisfied grin on his face. It irked Campbell beyond reason.
“Jacques, I wish to speak to ye about yer musical selection,” said Campbell.
“You are displeased, my lord?”
“Aye.” Campbell had the satisfaction of seeing the grin fade from the minstrel’s face. “Ye play well, I grant ye, but all yer songs are about glorious battles with England or tragic tales of English brutality.”
“You have a love of England?”
“Nay, I hate the bastards, but Lady Tynsdale is English and yer songs are inciting the hatred o’ England. I should be verra displeased if she is discomforted.”
“I apologize, my lord. I do not wish to make her uncomfortable.” The minstrel bowed his head, and Campbell nodded his dismissal of the troubadour. If this was the minstrel’s regular selection of songs it was little wonder Harry had reacted violently to Isabelle in the tavern at Glasgow.
Campbell entered his solar to wait for Douglas. He eyed a bottle of whiskey on the table but refrained. If he was to emerge from this audience alive he needed to be stone-cold sober. Which, considering the shrew that was about to invade his solar, was truly a pity.
Thirty-Four
David Campbell was not a man who gave much thought to fashion. He followed the Highland form of dress, as his father before him, which did not require fancy silks or ornate stitching. If he did consider garments, it was only in respect to outfitting his sisters, who had more refined tastes in their apparel than he. Considering he was their banker, he had learned, through great expense, to identify the cheap cloth from the dear. So when Lady Eileen Douglas swept into the room, Campbell nearly choked calculating the cost of her raiment. It was silk, embroidered, and plenty of it.
Campbell forced a tight smile on his lips, but he could not stop his brain from ticking up the expense as he noted the gold thread and the elaborate jewels. “Lady Eileen, ’tis a pleasure to see ye again so soon.” Campbell bowed over her hand. Merciful heavens, did she have rings on every finger? Look at the size of that stone!
“Laird Campbell,” she replied, her smile just as false as his.
Laird Douglas entered the room and gave Campbell a firm hug and a quick slap on the back that was more akin to a wrestling move or an opening attack. This was how the man showed affection and Campbell responded in kind. “Campbell, my lad. Ye are well met.” His affection at least was sincere.
“Aye and ye. To what do I owe this surprise visit?”
“Do I need a reason to visit my old foster? I’ve trained ye from a lad, so I thought to take a look at how ye have been improving this castle o’ yers. Quite something, no? I ken Eileen will be quite comfortable here.”
Danger, think fast. “I hope ye both will have a comfortable visit. I only wish ye had given me more time to prepare rooms for ye both and prepare a meal fit for the company.”
“And give ye a chance to run off hunting or some such? I think not,” muttered Eileen.
Now how did she know that? Campbell forced the smile back on his face.
“No need, no need. We will be comfortable where’er we are. Any small, out-of-the-way room will do,” said Douglas jovially.
Campbell chuckled in return. That was sheer nonsense and Douglas could only have meant it as a joke. “Whiskey? Ye must be parched after yer long ride.”
“Now that is something I can use. Pour a tall one, lad, I’ve traveled far.”
“Forgive me, Father, I beg to be excused. We have traveled long, and I need to wash off the dirt of the road,” said Eileen in clipped tones.
“Go on wi’ ye then,” returned Douglas.
Campbell walked Eileen to the door of the ladies’ solar and instructed a gillie to see to her needs.
“Did ye meet wi’ difficulty on the road?” Campbell asked Douglas when he returned.
“Nay, my daughter is unaccustomed to the discomfort of the road. The journey was long for her.”
Campbell nodded and sat down in a chair across from Douglas. He pictured Eileen complaining throughout a long journey. He remembered traveling with Isabelle and her happy chatter. Even when she was angry and the chatter stopped, she never complained.
Douglas took another long draft and drained his glass. He held it up and Campbell refilled it. Campbell knew better than to hope that Douglas would lose his senses to drink. He was a man with a lamentably iron constitution.
“Ah, there now, that’s better. Ye were always a good lad, David.”
“Thank ye, sir.” C
ampbell had fostered with Douglas for four years, and even now, he felt twelve years old when he spoke to Douglas. He respected and admired the man, which was only a slight slip from the sheer adoration of his youth. He should be proud to marry Douglas’s daughter, but there were concerns here that went beyond his own personal feelings on the matter.
“Have ye collected yer share o’ the ransom for that useless King David?” asked Douglas.
So it starts. “Aye, though I admit it was a scrape.”
Douglas grunted in agreement. “I tell ye the truth, between that ransom demand and outfitting my daughters I’ll be beggared afore the harvest.”
Campbell smiled, secure in the knowledge that Douglas was nowhere near poverty.
“Truly though, the English seek to bring us to heel wi’ this impossible ransom demand. What they could’na do on the field o’ battle, they will achieve through bleeding every last mark out o’ Scotland. And for what? A young king who’s spent more time outside our borders than within them? We waited while he grew up in France. He comes of age, and has no’ taken his throne for more than a year when he marches us into the hands o’ York, and gets himself captured.”
Douglas leaned forward in his chair, his eyes glittering with intensity. “There must be another way. We must negotiate wi’ England for better terms, or we Scots will starve to death. We fought too hard to let it all go to perdition now.” Douglas’s voice rose. Gone was the jovial man who entered the solar. This was the warrior with the heart of stone who would kill anyone who challenged him with deadly efficiency.
“What kind of deal would ye propose?” asked Campbell, the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up.
Douglas glanced around to make sure they were alone and lowered his voice even more. “I have been in contact wi’ King David. He wearies o’ his imprisonment and is willing to barter anything for his freedom. In fact, the little worm is willing to sign away his future heir’s rights to the throne, if England would release him. Think on that. We would be free o’ this ransom, which will surely be our demise.”
The Highlander’s Heart Page 25