The Campbell Trilogy

by Monica McCarty

  “It’s been an emotional few days.”

  A wry smile curved Elizabeth’s mouth. “That it has.”

  “You are going to Inveraray to speak with Argyll on Duncan’s behalf?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “With Jamie and my husband. I hope it will help.”

  But Jeannie could hear in her voice that she didn’t think it likely. Elizabeth looked back out the window and Jeannie drew closer to see what captured her attention. Through the frosty pane of glass she caught sight of the warriors in the courtyard. A few of the men were practicing their swords, others their archery, and a few lads were standing in a circle around—

  Her stomach sank. Oh, God. She schooled her features, trying to hide her reaction, but she knew what had so captured Lizzie’s attention.

  Duncan had kept his promise to show Dougall his maneuvers. He and her son were locked in a playful demonstration of hand-to-hand combat. Dougall tried to dart by him, but Duncan captured him, enfolded him in a big bear hug, and lifted the squirming boy off the ground. Dougall must have said something funny because Duncan tossed his head back and laughed.

  She felt a sharp pang in her chest. Watching them together was torture, but she could not turn away. Her conscience tugged. More than once over the past two days she’d fought the urge to tell him, but she still couldn’t be completely sure how he would react. Would he see it the same way she did or would he insist on claiming his son? She would trust him with her future, but could she trust him with her son’s?

  She wanted to, but something was stopping her. It wasn’t just the fact that he was an outlaw—a man fighting for his life—though that certainly played a part. They’d just started to rebuild what had been almost destroyed. This connection between them, growing stronger with each passion-filled night, was as yet too fragile. There had been no talk of the future—how could there be with Duncan’s being so uncertain.

  She could feel the weight of Lizzie’s gaze on her. “I believe that is your son,” she said.

  Jeannie stepped back from the window, her heart pounding. “Yes.” She met Lizzie’s gaze. “His name is Dougall.”

  “He looks to be about ten years old.”

  Jeannie’s heart stuttered to a terror-struck halt. “He was just nine last Michaelmas.”

  Lizzie didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at her with those crystal clear blue eyes. Jeannie met her gaze unflinchingly though every nerve ending in her body stood on edge.

  “I was thinking about the day you came to Castleswene.”

  Jeannie tensed.

  Elizabeth continued. “I thought it bold of you to come looking for Duncan after what you’d done to him—or what he’d accused you of,” she amended. “You seemed so upset to discover he’d left. I was surprised to hear you’d wed so quickly afterward. It seemed to confirm Duncan’s accusation, but I wonder if there was perhaps another reason.”

  Jeannie’s fists curled into tight balls at her side. “If you have something to say, just say it,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “One day he will see what I see. Once he does, the difference of four or five months will not deter him. Somewhere there is a person who will remember something and be able to tell him the truth. That person should be you.”

  Elizabeth Campbell had no right to tell her what to do. “What you are suggesting is wrong. You know nothing of what you speak.”

  Lizzie put her hand over her stomach, an instinctive gesture of protection. “Actually I think I do. This babe is not yet born and already I know there is very little I would not do to protect my child. I’m sure you felt the same.” Her voice grew quiet. “But Duncan has a right to know.”

  He’d given up that right when he left her.

  Or had he?

  Deep in her heart Jeannie knew that if they were to have a chance, eventually she must tell him.

  Elizabeth shifted her gaze, seeming to realize she’d said enough. “Did you wish to see me for something?”

  It took Jeannie a moment for her emotions to subside before she could compose herself to respond. She forced Dougall from her mind and said, “I was hoping I might get your help in persuading Duncan to make a quick journey to Islay. He’d remembered something your father said—”

  “But he’s going tomorrow. It was decided last night. I’d assumed he’d told you.” Lizzie looked embarrassed. “Though it was late, perhaps you haven’t seen him.”

  Apparently Elizabeth had correctly assumed their sleeping arrangements and was now wondering if she’d made a mistake.

  She hadn’t.

  Jeannie’s mouth drew in a tight line. The wretch.

  “I’m sure he was intending to tell you,” Lizzie offered.

  Aye, probably after another night of her trying to “persuade” him when it was too late for her to accompany him. Her eyes narrowed on the imposing man below in the courtyard. “I’ll just bet he was,” she said. She excused herself and marched purposefully down the stairs. If he thought he could exclude her, he was quite mistaken.

  The practice had just broken up for the morning when she exited the keep and made her way down the forestairs. Duncan was speaking with Leif and Conall with his back toward her and didn’t see her approach. His men took one look at her and made their quick excuses right before she tapped Duncan on the shoulder.

  He turned, his face instinctively breaking into a smile when he saw her.

  For a moment she forgot her anger under the powerful onslaught of the devastatingly handsome man standing before her. His black hair glistened in the sun, his blue eyes sparkled like the sea, his teeth flashed white behind a wide grin that made him appear younger than his years. She could smell the heat of his practice on his skin. The crisp, harshly masculine scent called to her on a dark primal level. There was just something irresistible about a heavily muscled, well-worked warrior.

  Furious that she could be so easily distracted, she gritted her teeth and glared up at him. At times like this she really wished he wasn’t so tall. It was difficult to be intimidating with your neck cranked back. “I hear you’ve decided to take a wee journey.”

  He had the good grace to wince. “Ach, you heard about that did you?”

  “Didn’t you think to tell me?”

  His grin grew wider, wickedly wider. His eyes slid down the length of her, lingering in all the warm spots, then returned to her mouth. She could almost see what he was thinking, what he was remembering, and her cheeks flushed. “Now why would I want to do that? I was having too much fun with your methods of persuasion.”

  Her eyes narrowed on the grinning lout. “You are a wicked man.”

  “I’ll show you just how wicked later tonight.”

  Her skin tingled with anticipation—in spite of her intention to not allow him to affect her. It was a foolish intention, he always affected her. She drew up her spine. “I’m afraid I will be busy this evening.”

  His smile fell. “Busy?”

  “Yes.” She smiled sweetly. “Packing for our journey.”

  His jaw hardened. “You’re not going.”

  Determined green met equally determined blue. “And how do you intend to stop me? You’ve no authority over me, Duncan Campbell.”

  His gaze narrowed, the tic beneath his jaw jumped to life. “Do not challenge me on this, Jeannie. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Unless they are searching the waterways, I don’t see why. No one would think to look for you on Islay.”

  His lips fell into a thin line, not pleased by her argument—because it was true. They could embark directly from Castleswene and land right at Dunyvaig, the MacDonald’s stronghold on the eastern seaboard of Islay. They never need even sit upon a horse.

  “I don’t want you involved,” he said.

  “I am involved. If my father had anything to do with what happened to you, it was partially because of me. With a good wind we could be there in a few hours. Besides, you can’t deny I helped you before.”

  “The same trick will not work
twice. No doubt your friend the captain has discovered his mistake.”

  Jeannie placed her hand on his arm. “Please, Duncan. This was my idea. I want to go to see it through. I want to be there with you.” Tears burned behind her eyes. “I can’t sit and wait and worry about what is happening.” Her eyes met his. “You wanted my help, now you have it. Don’t turn me away.”

  She held her breath, watching his face. His jaw flexed. “If there is trouble you will say I abducted you. What is one more crime when I’ve already been convicted of treason?”

  She bit back a smile. She would do no such thing. She would defend him with her last breath.

  Duncan breathed easier once they left the coast of Knapdale behind them and entered the open sound, safe on one of his brother’s birlinns. It was a small party—better to avoid too much attention—just Duncan, his men, and a handful of the loyal Gordon guardsmen. And Jeannie.

  He’d been fooling himself to think he could leave without her. It wasn’t the danger—she was right, the sea was probably the safest place for him—but if anything went wrong, he didn’t want her to see him captured. But would hearing of it later be any better? Probably not.

  Like it or not, she was involved. He couldn’t turn her away now. Not when he wasn’t sure how much time they had left. For purely selfish reasons, he liked having her with him. If he had his way they would never be apart again.

  More than once he’d thought of asking her to run away with him. To leave Scotland and the noose poised over his head. He had wealth enough to last for a dozen lifetimes. Perhaps if it had been just the two of them, he would. But she had her children and he could not ask her to deprive them of their future.

  He was done hiding. He wasn’t alone anymore. It was time to face the charges against him and hope that justice would be done.

  Duncan kept a close eye on the coast falling away behind them while the Norseman Leif, holding true to his seafaring heritage, sailed them across the sea. Their departure would hold the most danger—if anyone was watching Castleswene, they would attempt to follow. So far, however, they appeared to be alone except for the occasional fishing boat.

  The sky wasn’t exactly blue, but the soft gray was about as much as they could hope for on a cold December morn. Away from the buffer of land, however, the wind held quite a nasty bite.

  Keeping one eye on the water behind them, he took the seat behind Jeannie who had bundled herself up to her nose in plaids. It was a stark contrast to the way he’d left her this morning, her naked limbs tangled in the bedsheets and red-gold hair spilled across the pillow.

  He’d suffered well for his wee trick—very well. She’d tortured him for hours. First with her words, whispering all the wicked things she was going to do to him, then with her hands, and finally with her mouth and tongue.

  He hardened at the visceral memory of her teasing. How she’d refused to allow him to touch her as she brushed her tight nipples across his chest, across his mouth, across his turgid cock. As her smooth, silky skin slid against his. How her tongue had circled the heavy head of his erection, traveled the long length licking, flicking, and circling until he’d been forced to grab the mattress to keep from surging into her mouth. How when she’d finally taken him between her warm, moist lips he’d almost come. And then how she’d milked him in her mouth, caressed his bollocks in her soft hands, and forced him over the edge.

  He would submit to her punishment any time. But as demanding as she’d been in bed, she’d been unusually quiet afterward—quiet that had extended into the morning. He attributed it to concern over their journey and the precarious state of his freedom, but he wondered if it was something else entirely.

  She’d seemed so excited about the trip before. “Is something bothering you, Jeannie?”

  The question startled her from her reverie and her eyes quickly shaded. She shook her head a little too vehemently. The wool slipped from around her mouth, revealing a bright smile. “Nay. ’Tis cold, that’s all. How much longer?”

  Duncan was not fooled. She’s hiding something from me. He hoped she would confide in him, but he would not force her. “Another two hours or so, if the wind stays the same. We should be docked at Leodamas before noon. I’ll send word requesting an audience with my …” he couldn’t quite get the word out, “the nurse as soon as we arrive. With any luck we can see her this afternoon and only be forced to stay one night on the island.” He took another glance behind them, scanning the waves and seeing nothing, before turning back to her. “I don’t know how long Jamie and Lizzie will be at Inveraray, but I’d just as soon be at Castleswene waiting for them when they return.”

  Jeannie tilted her head a little to look at him. “We are docking at Leod’s Harbor? I assumed we’d stay at the castle for the night.”

  He shook his head. “I’d rather not avail myself of MacDonald’s hospitality any longer than necessary. In fact, I hope to avoid the chief entirely.”

  “You think he will recognize you?”

  Duncan nodded grimly. “Aye. My brother Jamie is well known to MacDonald—the chief also knew my father.” Though not engaged in a blood feud at the moment, relations between the Campbells and MacDonalds were always uneasy.

  Her eyes widened. “I didn’t realize …”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. Even if we do run into him, he’ll not break the bond of hospitality by holding me. If he sends word, we’ll be gone before anyone can arrive.” He grinned. “I’m afraid it means you’ll spend the night in a rustic alehouse or inn and not in the luxury of Dunyvaig.”

  Jeannie returned his smile. “I’ve done so before.”

  “I remember.”

  Their eyes held for a moment. Surprisingly, the memory no longer held pain for him. Further conversation was forestalled however, by the glimpse of a sail behind them. It turned out to be nothing, but by the time they’d made sure, the wind had changed, requiring Duncan to take his turn at the oars.

  As promised, two hours later they sailed into the small harbor. Once they’d secured the boat, Duncan set two of Jeanie’s guardsmen to the castle with the note from Jeannie requesting an audience with the old nursemaid—he didn’t even know his mother’s name. The rest of them located the nearest inn. Fortunately, the inn keeper was also a decent cook and they’d just finished a hearty bowl of beef stew with a hunk of the local cheese and barley bread when the guardsmen returned with their reply.

  The lady would see them.

  Duncan arranged for horses and not long afterward, he, Jeannie, and the two Gordon guardsmen were riding up the hill through the landward gate of Dunyvaig Castle, or Dun Naomhaig as it was known in the Highlands.

  The castle, once a stronghold of the Lords of the Isles, was situated high on a rocky promontory along the eastern edge of the Bay of Lagavulin, overlooking the sound and, on a clear day, the coast of Kintyre.

  It was an impressive fortress with a seven-sided walled enclosure, encompassing the entire hill. The castle was two levels—the sea gate and outer courtyard below, the tower keep and inner courtyard above—joined by stairs. A large bastion overlooked the bay, giving the guardsmen clear warning to all who approached.

  Duncan had ordered Leif, Conall, and the other guardsmen to stay outside the gates to keep watch of any messengers coming or going from the castle. If something went wrong, he’d rather have his men safe on the outside where they could help.

  While Jeannie’s guardsmen waited outside, they were led into the great hall, located on the second floor of the tower keep. Jeannie sat in a chair before the fireplace. Duncan stood behind her.

  He was too restless to do otherwise. For years he’d refused to think about the woman who’d abandoned him, but now that the moment when he would meet her was upon him, he couldn’t deny the increased pounding in his chest or the anxiety building in his stomach.

  Sensing his tension, Jeannie put her hand on his and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

  At that moment the door opened. Jeannie stood, and D
uncan went completely still as the woman walked into the room.

  She was small and thin to the point of frailty, with snow-white hair partially visible beneath the black velvet French hood popular with the prior generation when Mary had been queen of the Scots. Her skin was as wrinkled as a dried apple.

  She had to be at least seventy years—far too old to be his mother. Some of the tension dissipated. But why had the nurse—his mother—not come?

  The old woman had focused on Jeannie, but eventually her eyes lifted to him. Her skin grew sickly pale and her eyes widened in shock, as if she’d seen a ghost. She wobbled a little and both he and Jeannie reached out to steady her.

  She didn’t faint, but they carefully lowered her to the chair. Jeannie retrieved a fan she carried in the purse at her waist, the heat from the fire making the room warm and stuffy. The woman appeared too overcome by emotion to speak.

  “I apologize,” Jeannie said. “We didn’t mean to cause you any distress.”

  The old woman shook her head and seemed to collect her senses. She stared at Duncan. “You’ve the look of him—and her. She had the blackest hair, like a raven’s wing they said. With eyes as blue as the Irish Sea.”

  Duncan’s stomach sank. He hadn’t missed her usage of the past tense.

  “There appears to be some misunderstanding, my lady. We were here to see the chief’s old nursemaid.”

  “Forgive me, Lady Gordon,” the woman said. “I am Mary MacDonald. Sister to the old chief, aunt to the present. It was I who received your note. I’m afraid you can’t see, Kathrine.” She gave Duncan an apologetic look. “She died, ten years passed now.”

  It was what Duncan expected, but it didn’t stop him from feeling as if he’d just taken a blow to the chest. He’d never wanted to know his mother, but to know that he couldn’t was surprisingly difficult to hear. Kathrine. It was the first time he’d ever heard her name.