The Campbell Trilogy

by Monica McCarty

  He couldn’t believe it. He’d been so certain. Maybe Jeannie was right. Maybe her husband had nothing to do with what happened to him.

  As he replaced the papers where he’d found them and closed the drawer, he felt the distinct prickle of guilt. Should I have trusted her?

  His instincts rarely failed him. His gaze scanned the room and landed on a trunk, tucked into a small alcove in the wall. Lifting the top, he found himself staring at a thick stack of parchment.

  Every nerve ending stood on edge. This was it. He removed the papers and began to read.

  Near the bottom he found the missing map, creased where it had been folded in ninths. Parts of the wax still remained where it had been sealed closed, and scribbled on the back in one of the boxes created by the folds was a note:

  This came to me unexpectedly. Consider it a betrothal gift.

  Grant.

  His mind raced, trying to sort out what this meant. Betrothal gift. Had Jeannie known about this all along? He’d thought he’d been wrong, that she hadn’t betrayed him. He’d wanted to trust her.

  A few pages later he found a short correspondence, again from Grant to Francis Gordon, dated three days after the battle, the same day gold had been found in his belongings. It discussed the king’s approach and near the end words that sent a chill down his spine: The rumors you alluded to at our last meeting should give you no cause for concern. I have dealt with the matter and you can be assured that nothing will stand in the way of this betrothal. He was “the matter.”

  Duncan’s insides twisted. Vindication was cold comfort.

  He felt the subtle shift in air at the same time as a beam of flickering light spilled over his shoulder.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  He stiffened at the sound of her voice. He’d been so engrossed in what he’d found that he hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps. Holding the map in his hand, he slowly turned to face her. Jeannie stood in at the edge of the tunnel, a candlestick in her hand.

  Long red curls, blazing fiery gold in the candlelight, tumbled freely around her face and shoulders down the front of her thick velvet dressing gown. God, she was beautiful. So beautiful it hurt to look at her. He hated the doubt that consumed him.

  “What are you doing?” she repeated. Her eyes shifted behind him, seeing the papers, and her face filled with horror. “My God, you’re spying on me.”

  Jeannie gazed at him in stunned silence. To think she’d been unable to sleep because she’d been warring with herself about what to do. He’d saved her daughter’s life and quite possibly her own. With all he’d done she couldn’t stand aside and allow him to hang. But Dougall’s future hung in the balance. She’d wanted to find a way to help him and protect her son at the same time.

  Now here he was spying on her. He’d found the room. How could she be such a fool to allow herself to think that he’d changed? That he’d trusted her? Betrayal curdled in her stomach.

  Her accusation hung in the cold night air. He didn’t deny it. Instead he held out a couple of papers in his hand, his eyes once again cold and unyielding. “How do you explain these?”

  Not knowing what to expect, her fingers shook as she took the wrinkled parchment in her hand.

  Her heart thumped when she realized one of the documents was the map he’d been accused of selling to her father. She flipped it around, read the note, and then the letter.

  Saying nothing, she handed it back to him. A cold chill swept across her skin. Dear God, what had her father done? She’d wanted to think he hadn’t been involved, that the map had merely fallen into his hands. Had Francis been involved, too? Even posing the question felt disloyal. “This proves nothing.”

  His eyes flared dangerously. “It proves your husband was involved.”

  “What it proves is that my father sent the map to my husband. We already knew my father sent it to the Gordons. It changes nothing. Francis had nothing to do with framing you for treason.” Did she say it for her benefit or for his? And if Francis had been behind it, did it really change anything? He’d still protected her and her son.

  Duncan’s eyes scanned her face. “What has he done to deserve such loyalty?”

  She heard the raw emotion in his voice and had to turn away, lest she be tempted to tell him. Instead she turned his accusation back at him. “Why are you so quick to implicate Francis? My father even says the map came to him unexpectedly.”

  “And how did it come to him?”

  Her chest pinched. His question shouldn’t hurt so much. “I did not give it to him, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Then who did?”

  “Was there no one else with opportunity?”

  “I removed my sporran twice. Once with you and once when I returned to my tent.”

  “And you slept alone?”

  He gave her a long look. “My father, brother, and a few of my father’s closest clansmen slept in the tent as well.”

  “Yet you immediately assumed it was me?”

  “Given your father’s actions that day, you were the most logical. But I did consider other possibilities.”

  “And?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “And I am still the most logical?”

  He waited for a long moment. “I don’t want to think so.”

  Her gaze met his. He was looking at her as if he wanted to believe her. “What do you think in here?” she asked, pointing to her chest.

  He flexed his jaw. “I don’t.”

  Because he thought his heart had led him astray.

  When she didn’t say anything, he asked, “And what of the letter? Do you still deny your father was involved with what happened to me?”

  Her gaze dropped to the floor. “He could have meant anything.” It rang false even to her own ears. Her father had been involved. She knew it as well as he did.

  He held her gaze for a moment longer, as if waiting for her to reconsider. To make a different choice. To choose him.

  God, how she wanted to. Standing this close to him, alone, feeling his strength surround her, she ached to touch him, to take refuge in the force of the connection between them. Every instinct urged to throw herself in his arms, rest her cheek against his shoulder, breathe in the warm, spicy scent of him, and forget her troubles.

  He would kiss her.

  The memory of his mouth on hers was almost enough to throw caution to the wind. She knew how it would feel. How he would taste. How pleasure would crash over her like a wave, drowning out everything but sensation. Her troubles would fade away like the mist upon the dawn. For a moment. But, like the mist, when darkness came they would return.

  She had to think with her head and not with her heart. The fact that he was here spying on her, accusing her, told her that she had been right not to trust him with her secret.

  She would not deny that there was something between them. That in the past few weeks she’d felt twinges of her former feelings for him. That she’d found many new things to admire in the man he’d become. That when he’d kissed her she’d felt more passion, more emotion, than she’d felt in ten years. That even now, she feared he would pull her into his arms and she would be lost.

  But though the old feelings were still there, so was the distrust. As much as her instincts urged her to throw caution to the wind, experience had taught her control. Duncan deserved to clear his name, she wanted him to, but she had to protect her son.

  With what he’d found, Jeannie knew it was going to be harder and harder to do. She felt as if she were living in a house of cards and one by one Duncan was plucking them from under her.

  He would never understand why she was doing this. To him, it would seem another betrayal. That she was siding with her father and husband against him even when she suspected their complicity in his downfall. She knew what she was sacrificing. But the thought of her son suffering for her mistakes …

  If Duncan proved her husband complicit, at best her family would expect recrimination fr
om Argyll. At worst, the king could refuse to grant her son sasine in his property. And if Duncan discovered the truth about Dougall’s birth …

  The scandal, the repercussions could be horrible. She remembered how it had been when her mother had left. The stares, the whispering, the suddenly quiet rooms when she entered. Being rendered a bastard would be much worse. She couldn’t do that to her son.

  Her decision must have shown on her face. She could feel Duncan pull away from her. Feel the tenuous connection that they’d established snap. His face shuttered. He took a step back and placed the map and letter in his sporran. “I’ll be leaving at daylight.” His voice was flat, emotionless.

  Jeannie flinched. Leaving. Again. Pain wrapped around her like a vise. It shouldn’t hurt so much. She’d known it was coming. She’d made her choice, she’d have to live with the consequences. “I see.” She gazed up at him, her heart squeezing like a fist. “Where will you go?”

  “To my brother. Jamie is Argyll’s closest advisor.”

  She drew back in shock. He must be mad. Argyll’s enforcer was the most ruthless pursuer of outlaws in the Highlands. “He will toss you in the nearest dungeon and have a rope around your neck before you can blink.”

  His eyes darkened. “He is also my brother and right now my best option. My only option. It is not without risk, but it’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

  She wanted to argue. But he was right—where else could he turn? He’d come to her and she’d turned him away. But to go to Jamie Campbell … right into the heart of the dragon? A dark ball of fear lodged in her chest like a rock—hard and unyielding. Why did the idea of him putting himself in that kind of danger make her stomach churn? Make it feel like the bottom of her heart had just dropped out? “If it is mercy you seek, you will not find it with the enforcer.”

  “It’s not mercy I seek, but justice,” he said flatly, his eyes as hard as steel. “My brother will be as good a source as any.” The rebuke stung as it was meant to. But how could she tell him that she wanted to help him, she just couldn’t. “I will tell him what I’ve discovered and see if it will be enough to convince my cousin of my innocence.”

  She looked up at him, her heart in her throat, wishing there was more that she could say. “Will it be enough?”

  He shrugged. “It would be better if I had a link to the gold.”

  “Or to the person who stole the map,” she said softly.

  He held her gaze. “Aye, or the person who stole the map.”

  He might not fully trust her, but at least he was willing to acknowledge that it could have been someone else. He’d believed her guilty for a long time—not without reason—and she could not expect him to suddenly change his mind. Even if she wished it.

  It seemed neither one of them was willing to take such a leap of faith. Following her heart had almost destroyed her—she could not do that to her son.

  But she hoped Jamie Campbell helped—

  Dear God. Why hadn’t she considered the possibility before? Panic shot through her veins. She tried to keep her voice steady though every nerve ending in her body buzzed with alarm. There was no reason to think … the Campbells had many castles. But still her voice squeaked when she asked, “You are going to Ascog Castle?” Please, please, please say yes.

  He gave her an odd look. “Nay. In my sister’s last missive Lizzie mentioned that Jamie and his new wife would be spending the winter at Castleswene.”

  No! Dread settled over her. Dougall was at Castle swene.

  Her heart pounded. Surely he could hear it? The sound seemed to trumpet in her ears. Despite the cold night air, sweat gathered on her brow and hands. Duncan would see Dougall. Her fingers crushed the velvet of her dressing gown. Every instinct clamored against the possibility. “I’ll go with you,” she blurted.

  His eyes narrowed, her sudden change of heart having roused his suspicion. “Why would you want to do that?”

  She didn’t know, but she had to do something. She might not be able prevent their paths from crossing, but perhaps she could distract him? All she knew was that she couldn’t stay here and just wait for disaster to strike.

  She held her expression impassive, panic turning her to ice. “Traveling as one of my guardsmen, you are less likely to be discovered, and,” she continued offhandedly, “I should like to see my son. After what you’ve done for me and Ella, it’s the least I can do.” That much at least was true.

  “And you care whether I am discovered?”

  Her eyes locked on his. Her chest rose up to her throat. It hurt that he could think that of her, but what else could he think? “I’ve never wanted to see you hurt, Duncan,” she said quietly. “I’m only trying to protect my family. The same family you seem hell-bent on destroying.”

  He gave her a long look, his penetrating blue gaze darkening to black. “Is that the real reason you wish to come, Jeannie? To prevent me from sullying your father’s and husband’s names?”

  She flinched. It hadn’t been what she was thinking at all, but perhaps it was better if he thought so. Anything to keep him from guessing the truth: that the thought of him within a mile of their son drove nails of terror down her spine.

  I would never allow a child of mine to go unclaimed. His words echoed in her head.

  She lifted her chin, not denying his accusation. “Believe what you will, but I am going to Castleswene, whether you choose to ride with me or not.”

  Chapter 16

  In the end Duncan had ridden with her, though it had meant a day’s delay in leaving in order to organize the traveling party—or funeral party, depending on whether his gamble paid off.

  Jeannie’s estimation of the situation was accurate. Turning to his brother for help was a risk, but it was one he had to take. He’d run out of options. Jeannie wasn’t going to help him; he had to hope that his sister’s assessment of their brother proved more accurate than some of the rumors he’d heard. If he was wrong, he was a dead man. He might as well be handing himself over to the executioner.

  Though the true danger lay at their journey’s end, the journey itself would not be without risk and Jeannie’s offer to have him travel as one of her guardsmen would certainly help. But he would not have her in any danger. He picked the men who would accompany them himself, choosing the most skilled warriors, and insisted on doubling the number of guardsmen she initially wanted to take.

  Ignorant of the true situation, Ella had wanted to come, but the Highlands in the winter were no place for a child—or anyone for that matter. Fortunately, the lass was still feeling guilty for what had happened to put up much of an argument.

  The Marchioness had tried to persuade Jeannie to reconsider, suggesting that it was “hardly the time to go gallivanting across the Highlands on a whim to see her son,” but Jeannie had proved surprisingly stubborn.

  Duncan bit back a wave of bitterness, knowing the stubbornness was not for his benefit, but for her dead husband’s. She wouldn’t lift a hand to help him, but she would journey across the Highlands in the bowels of winter harboring the most wanted outlaw in the land to protect her husband’s memory.

  Something he was reminded of countless times over the next week. Each time their eyes met, jealousy and anger twisted inside him all over again. He’d thought she’d softened. He’d thought she was feeling the same emotions he was. The way she looked at him …

  As if sensing his thoughts, she turned and met his gaze. The pang of longing in her eyes hit him square in the chest with the force of a smith’s hammer. Their eyes held for an instant, before she quickly shifted her gaze, leaving him wondering whether he’d only imagined it.

  Why couldn’t he just accept that he wanted something that could never be his?

  But he did want her—badly—and her close proximity was testing the limits of his endurance. More than once, he wished he’d insisted she stay at Aboyne—not that he was sure she would have listened to him.

  Her constant presence chaffed. Together for hours on end like t
his … she was the devil’s own temptation. The long days in the saddle, followed by even longer nights, knowing how close she was. Even buried beneath layers of wool, the image of her nakedness was burned on his memory.

  He was at the end of his damned rope, pulled taut by jealousy and a cock that stiffened with a sharp gust of wind. He hadn’t had a woman in too damned long and his hand provided only temporary satisfaction. He’d considered releasing a bit of his pent-up frustration in the willing arms of a barmaid, but somehow he sensed it would hurt Jeannie and despite his jealousy he couldn’t do that—not yet. But to say he was looking forward to the journey’s end was putting it mildly.

  It wasn’t just the close proximity to Jeannie that had him on edge. The trip had been fraught with danger and delay—plagued not only by heavy snowstorms, but also by long detours to avoid brigands and soldiers. If Duncan needed any proof that his cousin had not relented, all he had to do was count the army of soldiers scouring the countryside for him.

  When they stopped at night in the drover’s inns or alehouses, the talk was either of the MacGregors or of the hunt for the elusive Black Highlander. To some he was an outlaw, to others a hero who’d taken on almost mythic proportions. It surprised him how many enemies he and his cousin had—many people were rooting for him to escape Argyll’s clutches. Though given his cousin’s recent debacle with the MacGregor chief’s surrender and subsequent execution, perhaps he shouldn’t have been.

  Duncan kept his head down and did his best to avoid drawing attention to himself, but more than one person had given him a long glance. He could hide his hair beneath a knapscall and avert his eyes, but he could not hide his size.

  Then, the night before they’d neared Inveraray, he’d come within a hair’s breadth of capture.

  They’d just finished eating—a surprisingly delicious beef and barley stew—and were relaxing before the fire with a tankard of ale before bedding down for the night when Leif rushed in. He’d been on watch and had seen the soldiers coming, but too late to make an attempt to avoid them. Leaving suddenly this late at night would have only given the soldiers cause for suspicion. Duncan knew they would have to take their chances.