“She’s mistaken,” the coward gasped. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Malcolm Mackintosh tried to intervene. “We did not mean the lass any harm. We want no trouble.”
Something in the man’s voice pulled Duncan’s gaze away from the captain’s. He read the silent offer. Let the lad live and I will keep the secret of your identity. It wasn’t much of an offer. If all of the witnesses were dead no one would be left to tell Duncan’s secret.
“Duncan.” Jeannie tugged on his arm. He gazed down into her upturned face, into the pleading green depths. “Please.”
His fingers gave one last squeeze before he tossed the man away from him. The young Mackintosh landed, gasping, on his ass.
Duncan turned to Malcolm. “Go. But if he comes within a mile of the lady again, he’s dead.”
Malcolm nodded and said in a low voice, “Welcome back, captain. I never believed what they said of ye. No one who saw ye fight that day did.”
Duncan acknowledged the man’s loyalty with a nod. He heard the young captain rustle to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye he saw him bend over and …
Before anyone else realized what was happening Duncan reached for the sgian dubh in his boot and in one smooth, unerring motion threw.
There was a loud thump as the blade found its target, followed by a strangled grunt from the captain.
The young captain wobbled, the hilt of Duncan’s knife firmly in his neck. The pistol he’d slid from his waist and pointed at Duncan’s back wavered in the air before dropping to the ground.
A moment later his body followed.
Chapter 15
It had happened so fast. Jeannie still couldn’t believe how quickly Duncan had reacted. She hadn’t even been able to open her mouth to shout a warning before his knife was sheathed in the other man’s neck, finding the small unprotected area right below his throat and above the edge of his mail.
The flash of fear she’d felt for Duncan paled in comparison to the awe and admiration that had followed after his near effortless dispatching of the threat and cold accuracy. She’d never seen him fight before and if the dark, ruthless look that had come over him was any indication, she could see how the Black Highlander had earned his fearsome reputation.
His instincts were amazing. He was amazing.
She put her fingers to her mouth. She could still taste him on her lips. The kiss had been brief, but poignant. In that one kiss he’d conveyed more emotion than in the entire three weeks since he’d returned. It had not been a kiss in lust or anger, but of something far deeper—of aching tenderness and poignant reminder of feelings long sumerged.
But the truly shattering part was that she hadn’t wanted him to stop. Her feelings had been right there—on the edge—ready to catapult into danger.
She was softening.
An uneven bit of road caused her to lift from her saddle and land with enough force to rattle her teeth, but her mount barely seemed to notice. The destrier (her mare had come up lame after she’d fallen) belonged to Duncan’s Irishman. The beast was far too big for her, but after her fall she appreciated its solid strength.
She didn’t even want to think what would have happened had Duncan not arrived when he did.
Though she would not mourn the death of the Mackintosh brigand who’d tried to abduct her, she did regret that it had been at Duncan’s hand. For a moment she worried that there would be a battle, that the Mackintoshes would seek to avenge their leader’s death. But after a tense moment they’d gathered up his body and left. The rash young captain had signed his own death warrant by trying to shoot Duncan in the back. He’d gotten no better than he’d deserved.
But Jeannie doubted his father would agree. The dead captain, the man who’d tried to abduct her, was the Mackintosh chief’s youngest son. And there was another problem to consider. The older Mackintosh warrior had recognized Duncan. She wanted to question him about it, but there hadn’t been an opportunity. As the path was too narrow to ride two abreast, conversing was impossible. In truth, she was too anxious to do so. Though Duncan had assured her that Ella was unharmed, Jeannie wouldn’t truly believe it until she had her little girl in her arms.
The torches were blazing by the time they thundered through the castle gate and the ghostly mist had settled low over the gray stone walls. She didn’t wait for assistance. As soon as the groomsman took her reins, she hopped down and raced up the stairs.
She burst through the door and the first thing she saw was her daughter. Ella stood in the entry, looking up at her with eyes wide, cheeks rosy from the fire, and the most abashed expression Jeannie had ever seen on her face. Her tiny mouth trembled. “I’m sorry, mother.”
Tears sprang to Jeannie’s eyes. Emotion engulfed her in a big, hot wave. All that she could have lost suddenly crashed down over her. She didn’t say anything, just knelt to the ground and gathered her child in her arms, holding on to her as if she would never let her go.
She glanced up and through the tears saw that Duncan had come up behind her. Their eyes met. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He bowed his head.
The tears flowed until Ella started to wriggle. Jeannie took her by her small shoulders and held her a few feet away from her, giving her the sternest look she could manage at the moment. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again. Do you realize what could have happened?”
Ella bit her lip. “I didn’t think anyone would confuse me for a deer.”
Jeannie paled. “What!”
Duncan winced at her side.
Ella looked up at him uncertainly and bit her lip. “I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”
He shook his head and then looked at Jeannie. “I thought I’d wait until later to fill you in on all the details.”
Jeannie looked back and forth between the two of them. “One of you had better tell me exactly what happened.”
Duncan sighed. “It was hard to see through the snow and trees. Ella was partially behind a bush and with her clothes”—Jeannie noticed that Ella was still wearing the clothing she’d purloined from her brother’s trunk—“one of my men thought she was a deer.”
Jeannie sank to the floor and looked up at him. “You stopped him.” She didn’t need to ask, she knew.
He nodded.
Overwhelmed, Jeannie sat in stunned silence.
Ella eyed her warily. “Mother? Are you all right?”
Jeannie shook her head. The tears and hot swell of emotion were choking her again. He’d saved her daughter’s life.
Duncan held out his hand and helped her up.
“I’m in a lot of trouble, aren’t I?” Ella asked Duncan.
He gave her a solemn nod.
Jeannie recovered enough to find her breath. “You disobeyed me, Ella. I told you I didn’t want you hunting. You can’t just run off like that and do whatever you want just because it seems like a good idea.”
One man had lost his life, and only by a miracle had it not been two. William had been found with an arrow in his back, but was still breathing.
Ella tilted her head, her little mind clearly at work. “Did you get in trouble for running off, too?”
Duncan made a sharp sound that he quickly covered up with a cough, but Jeannie glared at him anyway. Ella was quick witted—too quick witted for her own good. Her innocent remark rang uncomfortably true. “I’m an adult, Ella. I can make my own decisions. And I made sure people knew where I was going.”
The little girl nodded, chastened.
The Marchioness had come to join them. “You’re back safe.” She shot a glance to Duncan. “Was there any trouble?”
Jeannie stiffened, bracing for the recriminations that were sure to follow when her mother-in-law heard about the attack.
Duncan stepped forward before she could respond. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
Though Jeannie knew it was only a temporary abeyance she appreciated the effort. “I’ll leave you now,” he said. Jeanni
e noticed how he avoided the Marchioness, having roused her suspicion he did not want to put it to the test.
“Wait.” Jeannie bent down and kissed Ella on the cheek. “Go with your grandmother for a minute, there is something I need to discuss with Duncan. I’ll only be a minute.”
The Marchioness gave Jeannie a disapproving look, but Jeannie paid her no mind and led Duncan into the laird’s solar. The Great Hall was already crowded with clansmen gathered for the evening meal, and she wanted to speak to him in private.
She closed the door behind her and turned to face him. “Thank you, Duncan.” Her voice caught, but she fought back the emotion. “Thank you for saving my daughter and for finding me when you did.”
Their eyes met and something passed between them. “I thought you were dead.” His voice was low, rough. “I saw you lying there and thought you were dead.”
The stark look in his eyes tugged at her heart. “And that mattered to you?” she whispered.
“Hell, Jeannie.” He dragged his fingers through his thick, wavy black hair. “How can you ask that?”
What do you feel for me? But she couldn’t ask. Not when she wasn’t sure what her own feelings were. But something had changed. A barrier had shattered between them. The pretense of indifference.
“Ella was right you know. You shouldn’t have left like that. You should have waited for me.”
He wasn’t judging her or chastising her; it was concern that spoke. Usually such references to her impetuousness would make her defensive, but she wanted him to understand. “I had to go. The wait …” She gazed up at him. “Every minute was agonizing. You don’t know how hard it is to sit and do nothing. I was half-crazed. What if someone you loved was in danger? Could you sit aside and do nothing?”
A wry smile turned his mouth. “Nay, I don’t suppose I could.”
He gave her an odd look, then dropped his gaze. “You won’t be too hard on her will you? The wee lass knows she did wrong.”
Now that the fear had faded, anger was making an appearance. “If she doesn’t now, she will in ten years when I let her take her first step outside this castle.”
Duncan chuckled. “If she were mine, I’d probably do the same. I swear the chit took ten years off my life when I realized it was her.”
If she were mine. Jeannie’s heart stopped for a long beat and then throbbed painfully. He would be a wonderful father.
The pain sharpened and she had to turn away. After all he’d done for her, she wanted to trust him. But could she? Should she? Did he trust her?
Too much was weighing on her decision. This was not something she could decide on the spur of the moment—on a feeling. For once, she would take the time to think about it.
Taking a deep breath, hoping to hide the sudden flood of turmoil, she lifted her eyes to his again. “The man recognized you.”
“Aye.” He seemed disappointed by the turn of conversation. “I fought with him at Glenlivet.”
“Will he say anything?”
“Before I would have said nay, but now …” He shrugged.
Because of the death of the Mackintosh chief’s son questions would be raised. “What will you do?” she asked.
His eyes met hers. “What I set out to do. Find the truth.”
He watched her expectantly, as if waiting for her to say something. To tell him she would help. But she couldn’t. Not yet. “You will leave?”
“Aye, soon.”
Her heart tugged. “Where will you go?”
He gave her a solemn look. “I don’t know.”
Duncan paused outside the door, listening for any sound that might indicate that all the occupants of the keep weren’t tucked safely away in their beds. But the soft crackle of the dying fire was the only sound to disturb the empty black void of night.
Still he hesitated. He hated that it was necessary to do this, hated the need for subterfuge. Sneaking about in the middle of the night was not his way. But he’d waited as long as he could. He could delay no longer.
What had he been waiting for?
Jeannie. Part of him had hoped that she would change her mind about helping him.
He bit back the wave of disappointment. Maybe he was a fool, but after Ella’s wee hunting adventure and Jeannie’s near disastrous attempt to find her, he’d allowed himself to think that she’d softened toward him. That maybe, just maybe, she would confide in him what she knew.
That he wouldn’t need to sneak into the laird’s solar to look through her dead husband’s papers because she would show him herself.
He’d thought she’d been about to offer her help, but something had stopped her. Loyalty to her family? To her husband? Or something else?
He didn’t know, but he’d waited as long as he dared. Every day he lingered put him in greater danger of discovery.
And with what had happened this morning, Duncan knew his time was running out. The proverbial dogs had been unleashed and the hunt was on.
He’d sent Conall to Inverness to check for a response to the message he’d sent Lizzie at Dunoon Castle earlier this week, asking for her help and instructing her to leave word for him at an inn. Fortunately, his men were well trained and Conall had smelled the trap. From an alehouse across the way, he’d spotted soldiers beneath the battered plaids meant as a disguise.
Duncan frowned. Someone must have intercepted his note; his sister would never betray him. But who? Colin was the captain of Dunoon Castle. Had his brother sent soldiers after him? After Colin’s help in seeing him safely away ten years ago, Duncan didn’t want to think it possible. But in the notes he’d received from Lizzie over the years, he’d sensed her growing distance from Colin. It was Jamie she admired, Jamie she trusted, Jamie she begged him to talk to. Though Argyll was usually at Inveraray this time of year, he supposed there was always the possibility it had been his cousin.
Whoever it was, what mattered was that his return was no longer a secret. He was now the hunted. Wherever he went, he would need to be very careful. In the alehouse Conall also had heard that rumors of the Black Highlander’s return were spreading across the countryside. Once word reached Aboyne, it wouldn’t take the Marchioness long to figure out his identity. Though the way she watched him, he wondered if she already had. He couldn’t risk staying around to find out.
They would leave tomorrow.
Originally, he’d planned to go to Freuchie Castle, but now it would be too dangerous. With rumors spreading of his return, he knew the Grant’s stronghold would be one of the first places they looked. They would guess Duncan was looking for a way to clear his name. Only Lizzie knew of his connection to Jeannie, but with the Marchioness he couldn’t risk staying any longer.
Over the years Lizzie had begged him to go to Jamie and it looked like he had no other choice. But he sure as hell wished he had something more to give his younger brother than his word.
He’d searched the laird’s solar the night before he’d fallen ill and found nothing. But the very fact that he’d come across no personal correspondence at all had bothered him. When Jeannie had brought him in here the other day, his eye had caught on an oddity in the wood paneling of the walls near the fireplace—a gap in the carving, almost undetectable. The back of his neck had prickled, wondering if the rumors of a secret chamber were true. Before becoming part of the Gordons’ holdings, Aboyne Castle had once been in the possession of the Knights Templar and rumors of a secret “monk’s room” had circulated for years.
Carefully, he opened the door and slid into the solar. With no windows the inner-chamber was pitch-black except for the soft orange glowing embers of the fire. It took him a moment to find a candlestick, but with a few puffs of air he managed to light it.
Even with the candle, however, he needed time for the flame to gather strength and his eyes to adjust. When he could see well enough to get around, he headed straight for the incongruity in the wood paneling he’d noticed near the fireplace. His fingers slid over the place where the two pine plank
s abutted, feeling not only a distinct gap but that one side was raised slightly. He followed the gap around the top and knew it was a hidden panel—in this case a door. There had to be a way to pop it open. Perhaps the fireplace?
He tried pressing the rosettes, the vines, the shells—any part of the relief. Then he methodically started searching for any moving part … nothing. He was about to take out his dirk and pry the damned thing open, when he decided to reach around inside the fireplace itself and struck gold. He pulled a small wooden lever and heard the distinct pop.
A small door—about four feet high by three feet wide—opened. Holding the candle into the dark space, he could just make out the stone walls of a narrow passageway. From the dank smell and the layers of cobwebs and dust, it looked like it hadn’t been used in some time. Fortunately, however, it was tall enough for him to stand in.
After ducking through the door, he allowed his eyes to adjust for a moment before he carefully stepped forward. He was glad he did, as the floor suddenly became stairs. He realized he must be in a hollow section of the outer wall of the castle. The stairs seemed to go down forever. When he reached the bottom, he realized he was below ground because he was no longer seeing stone under foot, but dirt. The ceiling was also much lower and he was forced to duck as he walked through a tunneled passageway for about ten feet. Suddenly the tunnel gave way to a small chamber—if the old alter table in the center of the room was any indication, he’d found the monk’s room.
But if the layer of dust on the table and handful of chairs scattered about the room was any indication, it hadn’t been used as such in a very long time. Taking advantage of the two candelabrums that still held candles, he significantly improved the lighting.
Not wasting any time, he started looking in any place that might hold documents. He noticed a drawer in the alter table, and opened it to see it stuffed with papers. His pulse sped up, certain that he was about to find something important. He removed piece after piece of parchment, reading as fast as he could, quickly discarding the more recent documents to get to those from ten years ago. There were correspondence between Francis Gordon and nearly every laird in the Highlands, but nothing to do with him or Glenlivet. A short while later Duncan found himself staring at the wood plank of the bottom of the drawer.
The Campbell Trilogy Page 92