Momentarily distracted by the prominent bulge of muscle, it took her a few seconds to respond. Forcing her gaze from the rock-hard arms, she looked into his eyes. “How could you even think I would consider marrying anyone else?”
“Don’t you understand, Jeannie? Without my family’s support I will have nothing but my sword for us to live on.”
And all that he’d worked for would be lost—a brutal blow for an ambitious man like him. Her heart caught. Did he regret his vow? She took a deep breath, no matter what it cost her she would not force him to marry her. “Do you still wish to marry me?”
He appeared shocked by her question. “Of course.”
Jeannie tamped down the spike of relief. “Even if it means risking your position with your father and cousin?”
Duncan straightened as if she’d impinged his honor even by the suggestion. “I know well what is at stake.” Piercing blue eyes bit into her and the raw intensity of his voice left her no doubt. “I love you and would walk through the fire pits of hell to have you.”
Jeannie smiled through the tears. That was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to her. “Can you not afford me the same courtesy of knowing my own heart? I wouldn’t want to marry your brother even if he was the king himself. I only want you.” Her heart pounded in her chest as she grappled with the importance of what she was about to say.
Never would she have imagined herself in this position. She thought of her mother. Of the destruction she’d left in her wake. But this was different. She would not be leaving a husband and children behind. Her father would be hurt. Her brother and sisters disappointed …
She took a deep breath. No matter the cost, she would follow her heart. “I will marry you even if it means we must do so without our families’ permission.”
His eyes scanned her face, seeming to realize what that must have cost her. She could see the relief wash over him and he pulled her into his arms, hugging her against him as if he would never let her go. She lifted her face to his and he kissed her. A tender, poignant kiss that tugged on every string of her heart. Heat and happiness washed over her.
Lifting his head, he cupped her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. When this war with Huntly is won I will think of some way to persuade my father to help us.”
Jeannie nodded, wanting to believe it was possible, but fearing what would happen if it didn’t. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something horrible was going to happen. “What if something goes wrong? Can’t we just leave right now?”
His expression hardened, his gaze challenging. “Would you have me leave my clansmen to fight without me? I am captain until my father tells me otherwise.”
She winced, hearing the admonition in his voice. Of course he would never leave his men. He would do his duty not just because he had to, but because it was who he was—a warrior. A leader. She’d recognized it in him from the first; it was one of the things that had drawn him to her. He would not be the man she loved if he did differently, no matter how much she wanted him to be safe.
She laid her head on the wall of his chest, taking comfort in the steady beat of his heart. She would never forget the way he smelled—clean and fresh as a warm sea breeze. “I don’t want you to go.”
He sighed and stroked his hand over her hair as if he was soothing a child. “I know.”
She lifted her head. “It will be dangerous.”
“Aye.”
“What if you are hurt?”
His mouth curved. “I will recover.”
“But what if you …”
He stopped her with a look. He was right, she shouldn’t even think it.
He cupped her chin in his big hand. “I will come back to you, my love. On that you may depend.”
She was. “Just make sure that you do.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “With all your parts intact. I find that I am most looking forward to being a wife.”
He grinned, revealing the roguish dimple on his left cheek. Her heart squeezed. The dark as midnight hair, the cobalt eyes, the strong, masculine features … he was so handsome, sometimes she couldn’t believe he was really hers.
“Don’t worry, lass, whatever it takes we will be man and wife.”
Chapter 6
Early the next morning, Duncan rode away from Freuchie Castle, his head considerably clearer than when he’d arrived. He hadn’t realized how much the situation with Jeannie had been weighing on him. Now that it was resolved, and he was secure in the knowledge that no matter what befell them, they would find a way to be together, he could focus his full attention on the task at hand—namely the commission given to his cousin Argyll to pursue the rebel Huntly with Fire and Sword.
After weeks of planning, the fighting was finally upon them and Duncan was eager for it to begin. He was always like this before battle: restless, senses heightened, blood surging a little faster through his veins. The strange sensation of having never felt more alive at the moment the possibility of death drew near.
He knew Jeannie had been worried and wished he could help her understand how it was for him—why he needed this. On the battlefield, men weren’t judged by their birth, but by their skills. On the battlefield—leading, making decisions, fighting—he was in his element. On the battlefield, he would make a name for himself, one where “bastard” did not signify.
He wiped the dust and sweat that had gathered at his brow beneath the helm of his knapscall, squinting against the blinding sunlight as they drove east. Ahead lay the Hills of Cromdale and beyond that their destination , Drumin Castle. Drumin was strategically located at the juncture of the Rivers Livet and Avon, a good place from which to plan the attack on Strathbogie—Huntly’s stronghold—reputed to be one of the finest castles in Scotland. Ironically, Drumin Castle also belonged to Huntly, but was currently under the stewardship of Jeannie’s father.
Duncan scanned the wide stretches of rolling heather-covered hills for any sign of a disturbance. Enemy scouts would be watching for them. With so many men, they would not have the advantage of surprise. It was inevitable that Huntly would know they were coming.
Their plan was to muster at Drumin with the other clans who’d answered the king’s call to arms, and await King James’s orders to attack. King James himself was only a few days march south in Dundee. Argyll was in charge until he arrived, though Duncan suspected his cousin wouldn’t willingly relinquish control.
His cousin was chomping at the bit to prove his mettle. Archie was one of the most important magnates in Scotland, but his relationship with the king was at times strained. Both were young men in their prime, recently freed from the leading strings of guardians, eager to establish their authority. At times that pursuit put them at loggerheads. Undoubtedly it hadn’t escaped the king’s notice that in the Highlands, Argyll was referred to as “King Campbell.”
Duncan rode beside his cousin at the head of a force of nearly two thousand Campbells. With the rest of the clans and men who’d answered the king’s call, they would be nearly ten thousand strong. In addition to Grant’s men, they would be joined by their cousins, Campbells of Lochnell and Cawdor, MacLean of Duart, the MacGregors, the Mackintoshes, and the MacNeils.
A significant force, aye, but few of those were trained soldiers—even fewer had protective armor or a mount. He glanced around behind him at the long line of foot soldiers, seeing precious little silvery steel glinting in the sun, only the occasional knapscall and habergeon, the sleeveless coat of mail, such as he wore.
“Something bothering you, cousin?”
Duncan turned to find Argyll watching him. He frowned, considering the question. He supposed there was. “I’d hoped to see more men on horseback.”
From any other source, Duncan knew the comment would be perceived by his cousin as a criticism, but they’d been fostered together and Duncan never hesitated to speak his mind. It was probably why Argyll relied upon him—he could trust Duncan not to toady to him. Not that his cou
sin always heeded his advice. Nay, Argyll had a mind of his own, unfortunately with all the arrogance of youth and position.
“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 coul
d 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.
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