The Campbell Trilogy

by Monica McCarty

  Duncan wasn’t laughing any longer. “Who thinks this? Not Archie?”

  Colin shook his head. “Nay, he defended you, but even he could say nothing when they found the bag of gold. Forty gold ducats are hard to explain.”

  Duncan felt the first prickle of true alarm. ’Twas a small fortune. But it was not his. “There must be some mistake.”

  “There is no mistake. They searched our tent and found it in the bag you attach to your saddle.”

  Someone had put it there. Someone who wanted him to look guilty. Grant?

  “Anyone could have put it there. Let them bring these spurious charges to my face.”

  “With the king on his way the chiefs are out for blood. You will be arrested. You must go.”

  Arrested? “I won’t run. I’ll stay and prove my innocence.”

  “Where, from prison?”

  His jaw squared. “I’ll not leave father.”

  “He would not want you to stay, not like this.”

  From the courtyard below, Duncan heard the unmistakable clatter of soldiers.

  “Go,” Colin said. “I will stay with father until you return. I swear it.”

  He didn’t want to go, but Colin was right. He could do nothing to prove his innocence from prison. And without his father, who would fight for him? Archie would be having a time of it himself, defending himself before the king.

  He clasped his brother around the shoulders. “Thanks for the warning, little brother. I’ve yet to have the chance to explain about Jeannie. I’m sorry if you were hurt, it was not intended.”

  Colin brushed off the apology. “We were both fooled.”

  Duncan gazed at him quizzically.

  “You haven’t heard?” He shook his head. “Jeannie Grant is betrothed to Huntly’s son, Francis Gordon.”

  Duncan froze, every muscle rigid with shock. It wasn’t possible.

  Was it?

  For the first time a shadow of doubt crept into the back of his mind and he allowed himself to consider what he’d been staving off thinking about for days. Why hadn’t she told him? And what had happened to the map? He’d had it with him the whole time, removing it only to sleep. He recalled his sporran neatly arranged with his belongings.

  And now she was betrothed to Francis Gordon.

  It suddenly cast what had happened between them in an entirely new light—a sinister light.

  His stomach turned. Had his brain been too addled by emotion to see the truth? Had Jeannie been lying to him? Had she used him? He didn’t want to think it possible, but he damned well intended to find out.

  Leaving Colin to watch over their father, Duncan slid out of the chamber, down the corridor, past the men coming to arrest him, and into the darkness of the night beyond.

  Chapter 9

  Jeannie startled awake, wrenched from a deep sleep by a sound. Her heart raced with fright. She didn’t breathe, waiting in the darkness for another sound, slowly exhaling when none was forthcoming.

  She rolled to the side and settled into the mattress, trying to quickly reclaim the slumber that had just abandoned her, trying not to think …

  Of Duncan. Too late, she realized, resigning herself to another sleepless night.

  In the three days since her father returned she’d learned little of the fate befallen the Campbells. She could not ask her father, and she doubted he would tell her if she did.

  Her father was anxious for her marriage to Francis Gordon to secure the alliance and Jeannie knew she would not be able to put him off much longer, especially now that Francis had arrived.

  Duncan was alive. He had to be. But why hadn’t he come for her? A snippet of a conversation she’d overheard this evening would not leave her. Her father had been speaking with Francis in the solar after the evening meal about the battle, reveling in their success, “thanks to Campbell’s map.” At first she’d given it no thought, continuing her duties in clearing the hall, until the mention was made of treason and gold.

  It couldn’t be Duncan that they were talking about, but the prickle of unease would not leave her.

  Oh, why didn’t he come?

  All of a sudden, a man stepped out of the shadows. She gasped, opening her mouth to scream, but he smothered it with his hand.

  In the beam of pale moonlight she made out his face. Her body sagged with relief and tears of joy sprang to her eyes.

  He removed his hand and she bolted upright. “You’re alive!”

  He didn’t say anything. He was strangely still, keeping to the shadows, maintaining distance between them, rather than enfolding her in his arms as she’d dreamed would happen at this moment.

  Indeed, now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see that he had the strangest expression on his face—almost menacing. If she didn’t know him she might be frightened by the cold look in his glowing blue eyes, of the cruel flair of his nostrils, of the square set of his jaw. She sensed the tension, the anger radiating from him. “Duncan, what’s wrong?”

  His eyes scanned her face. “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you aren’t betrothed to Francis Gordon?” She paled and he swore. Before she could defend herself he grabbed her arm and dragged her from bed. “How long have you been keeping this from me? Were you engaged that night you sent for me?”

  He read her answer and pushed her away, but she clung to him. “Don’t you see? That’s why I came? I don’t want to marry him; I want to run away with you. The betrothal was my father’s doing.”

  “But you agreed.”

  “I was scared. He was so angry when I told him about you. But I never intended to go through with it. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t because I feared …”

  “You feared I would realize that your father intended to double-cross us. You’re right. It seems there is much you have kept from me.” His eyes bit into her. “Why did you send for me?”

  “Don’t you see? I feared for your safety.”

  “Well, as you can see there was nothing to fear, though I’m afraid my father wasn’t as fortunate.”

  Her stomach turned. “Oh, Duncan, I’m sorry. But can’t you see there was nothing I could do.”

  His face was tight and unyielding. “You made your choice.”

  “That’s not fair,” she protested. “Surely you can see what a precarious position I was in? If I told you what my father had planned it would be him in danger.”

  But it was clear he didn’t see. To the noble Duncan, honor and integrity would always trump treachery. “Your loyalty to your father is to be commended,” he said mockingly. “But tell me Jeannie, just how far does that loyalty extend?”

  She didn’t like what she saw in his eyes. Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “You were quite insistent that I not leave. Quite insistent.”

  She sucked in her breath, not wanting to believe what he was suggesting—that she’d purposefully seduced him. “I was worried about you.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Of course. What other reason could I have?”

  His eyes bored into her. “Why did you move my belongings?”

  She opened her mouth to deny his charge, then remembered that she had moved his things. Heat pricked her cheeks. “I had to use the garderobe. I almost tripped on them, so I picked them up.”

  He didn’t believe her. “Are you sure it wasn’t to look for something? A map perhaps?”

  “Of course not—” She stopped, realizing what he’d said. She swallowed hard. “A map?” Her voice squeaked.

  The look he gave her, hard with betrayal, could have cut glass. He took a step back and looked at her incredulously. “God, it was you.”

  She shook her head, grabbing onto his arm. “No. I took nothing. It’s only that I heard my father mention a map.”

  But her attempt to explain only seemed to damn her more in his eyes. “Enough!” he said, tossing her away from him. “I’ve heard enough.”

  “No, you haven’t.” Anger burst inside her. She stood before him, fists
clenched tight at her side. “How dare you come here like this and accuse me of such a heinous crime and not allow me to explain.”

  “There is nothing to explain. The facts speak loud enough. When I arrived at the alehouse, answering your urgent summons, I carried a map—a map your father clearly wanted. A map by your own admission your father now apparently has.” He shook her by the shoulders. “Was it just luck or did he send for you and tell you where to look?” His voice was deceptively calm, but his eyes were wild and dangerous. “Does your betrothed know the depths to which you had to go? Does he know that you’ve had to whore yourself to a bastard to achieve your ends.”

  Jeannie gasped, a hot spike of pain stabbing in her heart. Without thinking, she pulled her hand back and slapped him as hard as she could across the cheek.

  His face turned with the force of the blow. When he turned back, the look in his eyes froze her to the floor. “Don’t ever do that again,” he said in a low voice, clasping her arms in a viselike grip.

  Her heart raced. She’d never seen him like this. “Let go of me.” She tried to wrench free, but he didn’t give an inch, holding her firm a few inches away from him as if he didn’t know whether to push her away or pull her into his arms.

  She could smell the wind on his skin, see the dark stubble that lined his jaw, feel the tautness of his body, and knew how perilously close he was to the edge. She tried to pull him back, tried to make him see reason. “I would never do what you accuse me of. I would never hurt you.” She inched toward him and reached up to cup her hand to his stubbled jaw, looking deep into his eyes. “I love you, Duncan. Can’t you see that?”

  For a moment his gaze softened and she thought her words had penetrated, but just as quickly the steel curtain dropped once again and he jerked his face free of her caress. “It won’t work this time, Jeannie. You have fooled me once, but never again. I’ll be lucky to escape the net of treason you’ve cast around me with my life. Was it you who planted the gold or your father? Did I reach too high?” His fingers dug into her arms and his entire body coiled with rage. “God, I should kill you for what you’ve done.”

  Jeannie felt something inside her flicker and die. She hadn’t done what he accused her of, but maybe in the end it didn’t matter. He couldn’t love her; he didn’t know her at all.

  She lifted her chin, to meet his damning stare. “If you truly believe what you are accusing me of, perhaps you should.”

  For a moment he didn’t move, but simply stared at her as if he might believe her, as if he’d heard the truth behind the bravado. But instead of pulling her into his arms, he released her and stepped back. “Good-bye, Jeannie.”

  He turned his back to her. Panic rose up inside her and held her by the throat. He was really going to leave. “Wait!” She grabbed onto his arm. “You can’t go. Not like this. You have to listen to me.”

  His face barely moved. He stared straight ahead and didn’t look at her. “There is nothing more to say.”

  She felt him pulling away, closing himself off from her. Her worst fear had come true. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Why are you acting like this?”

  “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  The cool finality in his voice turned panic to hysteria. She lost whatever tenuous hold she’d had on control. All pretense of pride fell to the wayside as she clung to him, her fingers digging into his arms. “No. You can’t mean that.” He tried to free himself from her hold, but she wouldn’t let him go. “Duncan, please …” she begged, her words choked with hot tears.

  But he was immune to her pleas. Jaw clenched, he forcibly jerked away from her. She collapsed to the floor in a heap, her body racked by uncontrollable sobs. “Don’t leave me,” she choked.

  Without another word, without another look, he slid back into the shadows as stealthily as he’d emerged. A moment later she heard the door open and close.

  “No!” But there was no one to hear. He was gone.

  Duncan didn’t know how desperately he’d wanted to believe her innocence until he’d realized she’d betrayed him. The man who’d walked out of that room was not the same man who’d entered. He was older. Disillusioned. A hard shell. Cold inside.

  I should have known. He’d seen her with her father—had he really thought she would leave all that for him?

  Perhaps he could try to understand her loyalty to her father, but he couldn’t explain the map once in his possession was now by her own admission in her father’s. Nor could he explain her betrothal to another man.

  He felt a strange burning in his chest, a twisting emotion that could only be described as jealousy. That he knew the man—and were they not on opposite sides might have admired him—made it worse. Francis Gordon was an apt politician, a skilled warrior, wealthy, and if Duncan abided the judgment of the ladies at court, uncommonly fair of face. The perfect match for a daughter of a chief. Unlike him.

  He felt like such a fool. Why would she want to marry him when she was betrothed to the son of one of the most powerful men in Scotland? The legitimate son. Duncan had been deluding himself, believing a woman like her could see past the stain of his blood.

  Had her father used her to distract him? That was probably the most difficult shame to swallow, that he might have missed the signs of Grant’s treachery, failing in his duty to his family, because he was panting after a lass like a lovesick pup.

  This was what happened when you thought with your cock. He would never make that mistake again. His destiny lay on the battlefield, not with a woman. He should have recognized that long ago.

  Yet part of him refused to believe it had all been a lie. Passion like that could not be feigned. But maybe that’s all it was: passion. Maybe she’d moved on when she’d found something better. Hadn’t he worried about that very thing? That she would follow her heart when the next impulse struck?

  He shook off the memories. Even if she had not been entirely pretending her feelings, she’d made her choice in siding with her treacherous father.

  And he’d made his. He would return to his father’s side and plead his case to his cousin.

  Duncan considered the evidence against him and knew that it was damning. The note. The map. The gold. His anger at his father and at not being given a command. Perhaps one could be explained, but combined they were compelling proof of guilt. He could only hope that when he laid out the facts before the earl, Archie would find him guilty of being a fool, but not a traitor.

  It was near dawn by the time Duncan slipped through the gate of Drumin Castle on foot, leaving his horse—and battle garb—a short distance away. He’d carefully hid his steel knapscall, weaponry, and mail, exchanging them for a simple plaid and bonnet worn down low over his brow so as not to attract notice.

  They were looking for him. The three parties of soldiers he’d avoided on the road told him as much, but as the gates were not being watched closely he guessed they did not expect him to return.

  He hid in the stables and spent the better part of the day avoiding anyone who might recognize him, waiting for the opportunity to slip inside the castle. Finally, he joined a party of men bringing in peat for the kitchens.

  Once inside he’d worked his way back up the stairs from the kitchens to the laird’s chamber. Opening the door carefully, he peered inside, relieved to see only Colin and a maidservant. Colin lifted his head when Duncan entered, his eyes red and glassy.

  His gaze widened when he realized it was Duncan. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come back. Half the King’s army is looking for you.”

  “I had to see father. Has there been any change?”

  Colin shook his head mutely.

  Duncan knelt beside the bed, taking his father’s hand in his. It was as cold as ice.

  “Duncan, you can’t stay here.”

  He met his brother’s gaze. “I intend to prove my innocence.”

  Colin gave him a strange look. “You found the proof you were looking for?”

  His mouth
tightened. “No, but I believe our cousin will listen to what I have to say.”

  Colin shook his head. “You don’t understand. There is a bounty on your head. You have been tried this very morning and found guilty.”

  Duncan swore. “Argyll will believe me.”

  Colin didn’t look so sure. Indeed, Duncan suddenly realized that Colin didn’t believe him either. “You think I’m guilty.”

  “No,” Colin said reflexively, but without real vehemence.

  Duncan held his stare for a long pause. “I see,” he said softly, unable to believe how quickly his own family had turned against him. The evidence was strong, aye, but did it erase a lifetime of honor and loyalty? Were his actions on the battlefield supposed to be some elaborate front? It was ridiculous.

  “It’s not like that,” Colin said, trying to make amends. “It’s just the lass is beautiful—” He stopped at the sound of footsteps approaching the door. “I’ll get rid of them,” he said.

  Duncan hid behind a tall cupboard near the door until he heard the sound of his brother’s voice fading down the corridor.

  He knelt beside his father’s side again, resting his head against the bed as if willing him to wake and give him guidance.

  It was far worse than Duncan had realized. They’d already tried and convicted him. Without proof he would not be able to overturn the judgment against him. With sudden clarity, he realized that he’d been made a convenient scapegoat for the loss of the battle. A bastard was an easy mark. If his cousin and his own damned brother didn’t believe him, who would?

  He felt drained, as if all the life he’d known had been sucked right out of him. For the first time in his young life, he was at a complete loss. What can I do?

  He must have spoken the question aloud, because he heard a soft grunt in response. He thought he’d imagined it at first, but when he raised his head his father opened his eyes.

  “Father!”

  His father moved his head back and forth on the pillow, clearly distressed. Duncan tried to calm him with soothing words, but it didn’t work. His father opened his mouth, trying to talk, but only strangled sounds came out.