The Highland Dynasty: The Complete Series

by Amy Jarecki

  When he finished with valerian, Hubert inhaled deeply, as if he’d never strung so many words together at once in his life.

  Meg patted his shoulder. “My thanks. Perhaps I can come back on the morrow with a bit of parchment. I want to be sure to note every detail.”

  He stared with his mouth agape. “The morrow, m’lady?” He removed his bonnet and scratched his thinning hair. “I dunna ken—”

  “I’m most certain Lord Arthur will approve.” She offered a consoling smile. “If we cover one herb per day, it should not be too taxing. Besides, you cannot expect to keep such vast knowledge in your head for an eternity. What if you were to forget something?”

  “Ah, m’lady, I never forget.”

  “Are you certain?” she asked. He twisted his mouth with hesitation. Meg held up a finger and stood. “Everyone forgets something.” She moved to the doorway. “I shall see you midmorning on the morrow and let us talk about mallow.”

  She didn’t wait for him to answer—she abruptly turned and collided with Arthur. Sputtering, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her back along the path. “The valet told me he’d seen you head for the gardens. Whatever are you doing out here in Hubert’s cold workshop?”

  She tugged her arm from his grasp. “I’ve realized I need to know a fair bit more about herbal remedies if I’m to bec—”

  “Become?”

  Why must her brother always tie her stomach in knots? “Merciful mercy, Arthur, it matters not. Wife or nun, I need to know more about healing.”

  “Now that’s my Meg. Always worried about caring for others.” He stopped and faced her. “’Tis good to see you focusing on something useful.”

  Meg exhaled. If Arthur would have forbidden her from seeing Hubert again, she might have lost all control and slapped him across the face. How dare he interfere with something that would be so trivial to an earl, anyway? Then she recalled the valet had told Arthur of her whereabouts. “Were you looking for me?”

  “Ah yes.” His expression grew dark. “News has arrived that Lord Colin Campbell was gravely injured by an arrow. Since you spent a sennight at Kilchurn, I thought you’d want to be aware.”

  Meg clasped her hands to her mouth. “Oh my heavens, that is awful. It only seems like yesterday when I last saw him.” She steadied herself on the stone fence. “Will he survive?”

  “I know not.”

  “If only there were something I could do.”

  “Lord Colin is at home resting, surrounded by his family. ’Tis the best thing for a man when he’s injured.”

  Duncan must be sick with worry. “How did it happen?” Meg’s voice grew softer while her eyes welled with tears. If only she could reach out to him. She hugged her shoulders and rested her chin upon her chest.

  “Word is something went awry when they captured the Earl of Mar and took him into custody.”

  “The king’s brother? Why ever would they capture him?” That must have been the secret mission Duncan spoke of.

  Arthur continued to amble along as if this news were commonplace. “He’s been accused of using witchcraft against the king.”

  “Honestly? How dreadful.” Meg’s hands trembled. Truly, news of Mar was grave, but she could not control the pounding of her heart. Trying to breathe normally, if it weren’t for Arthur looking at her with an apprising stare, she may have swooned. If only she could rush to Kilchurn. Duncan would need someone to talk to—he probably felt responsible. Even if he had only tepid feelings for her, she wished she could do something for him…and Lord Campbell, who had been so kind to her.

  Meg had no idea how long she’d been silent when they’d arrived at the castle steps. Arthur placed a hand on her shoulder. “You seem deep in thought.”

  “Aye, just shocked by the news. Sir Duncan would be troubled, I am quite certain.”

  “Aye, and he’d have a great many details to attend as well. A wound like that can take months to heal, if ever.” Arthur still appeared to be completely unaffected. “I must away to France but plan to return before Easter. Thank heavens ’tis late this year.”

  Meg nodded and hung her head.

  He lifted her chin with the crux of his finger. “I’ve ordered the tailor to attend you. I believe new gowns are in order for our visit to court.”

  Meg’s jaw dropped. She’d just learned Duncan suffered in the midst of turmoil, and she was supposed to while away her time on courtly gowns? Heat shot through her skin like a streak of lightning. She wanted to strangle Arthur for his indifference. But she could not. If she showed too much emotion, he’d suspect something for certain.

  23

  Lord Percy rode a bay gelding beside the king, who was mounted on a black Galloway stallion. Riding through King James’s vast private hunting grounds, they had more privacy to discuss delicate matters. Now filling the role as King Edward’s emissary, there was much to discuss.

  The king glanced over his shoulder. “The guard is out of earshot.”

  Percy smiled. The meeting he’d had with King James a sennight prior had proceeded well. He had assured the king of Edward’s desire to maintain peace and foster cooperation along the borders. That was no easy feat with the sheep-stealing clans north of the border. Though Lord Percy would manage his end of the bargain and see to it that no thievery was ever blamed on the English side. “Your message must be grave, indeed.”

  “Let us say ’tis sensitive.”

  “Whatever England can do to support your endeavors is certainly in our best interests to strengthen our truce.”

  Ambling in his saddle, the king gave Percy a deprecating glance. “Alas, my brother has used witchcraft against me.”

  “No.” Percy did his best to look surprised, though all of Edinburgh was abuzz with the news. “If you do not mind my inquisition, what manner of witchcraft has he used?”

  “Incantations.” The king sighed. “Reported directly from within his own ranks.”

  “’Tis an abomination for one of an exalted rank as the Earl of Mar to employ such heresy.”

  “So very true. Though a trial will sully my name. It could grow into a farcical charade, ruinous not only for me, but for all of Scotland.”

  Percy shook his head. “’Tis grave, indeed. If only I could be of assistance to you, sire.”

  The king cued his horse to a canter and Percy followed suit, ensuring he did not make the mistake of pulling ahead of the royal’s mount. Together they rode up a steep incline, and the king reined his horse to a stop at the crest. He gazed out over the city of Edinburgh, his face hard, as if he were about to ride into battle. “If the problem can be extinguished outside of court, a very handsome reward could be arranged.”

  Lord Percy licked his lips. “A task best undertaken by someone other than a Scot, I’d surmise.”

  “Precisely.”

  Dabbing the spittle from the corners of his mouth, Percy curbed his desire to grin. “What is the extent of such a payment?”

  “Land, gold.” The king looked him directly in the eye. “Only if there is no scandal.”

  Lord Percy bowed his head. “Of course, all suspicion would be drawn away from you, sire.” He rubbed his fingers together as if he already held the king’s gold sovereigns in his hands. “Perhaps if the earl were transferred to a suite of rooms for his comfort during his incarceration, a suitable disposition could occur.”

  “Hmm.” The king stroked his beard. “Under the pretense of making my brother more comfortable? That could be just the thing to draw away untoward suspicion.”

  Percy picked up his reins and turned his horse back toward the path. “I shall see it done. If you would be so kind as to notify Craigmillar Castle of the transfer.”

  “I shall send a missive to Sir Preston forthwith.” The king slapped his crop against the stallion’s rump, and together the two men cantered back to Holyrood without a single deer spotted. Percy chuckled to himself. He much preferred human prey.

  Duncan arrived at Kilchurn Castle weary, unshaven and di
spirited. He’d made the three-day journey only stopping when necessary to rest his horse. It was quiet when he strode through the great hall—too quiet.

  He doubted he’d ever forgive himself for his lack of judgment at Kildrummy. That the king had shown little remorse for his father’s wound also ratcheted up his ire. Colin Campbell had given his life to Scotland, had quashed the Douglas uprising and had been a hero in no less than three crusades. And the king wanted me to stay and dine with him?

  Duncan stopped by his chamber to remove his weapons, and then proceeded to the lord’s rooms. He stood outside Da’s door for a moment, not sure what to expect. Ten days had passed since the incident at Kildrummy. With luck, the Lord of Glenorchy might be sitting up—he hoped. Holding on to that hope, when he finally opened the door, a lump formed in Duncan’s throat.

  Da lay on his back, the duvet pulled up to his chin. Ma sat on a chair beside him, holding his hand. She glanced up. Her anguished eyes were rimmed by red. Walking inside, Duncan met her gaze, and then saw Da’s ashen face—even paler than it had been when Duncan had last seen him in Perth. His eyes were closed. “Is he sleeping?”

  “Aye,” she whispered. She gently released Da’s hand and stood, gesturing to the settee over by the hearth. “He’s been asking for you.”

  Duncan followed her and sat. “How is he?”

  Ma shook her head and drew a hand over her mouth. “I’m afraid mortification of the leg has set in.” She gasped and choked back a stuttered breath. “The wound has gone putrid and the skin on his leg has turned from pale to brown. The physician says ’tis only a matter of time.” Her shoulders shook.

  “Och, Ma, there must be something we can do.” Duncan pulled her into an embrace. “He’s strong as an ox with the heart of a lion.”

  Her breath stuttered, as if she were trying to hold in her tears. “Aye. If anyone can overcome this, ’tis your da.” Sighing, she dabbed her eyes with a kerchief.

  “Duncan?” Da called from the bed. The weakness in his voice made him sound one hundred years of age.

  Ma patted Duncan’s cheek. “Go to him. I’ll leave you alone for a moment.”

  After helping her up and seeing her to the door, Duncan moved to the chair beside Da’s bed. “The king sends his regards.” It sounded pathetic, but Colin Campbell wouldn’t want his eldest son weeping over him like a milksop.

  Da reached out his hand. “And the earl?”

  Duncan grasped it between his palms. His hands were ice cold. Duncan never remembered his father’s hands being so cold. “Delivered to Sir Preston at Craigmillar.”

  “Very good.” Da licked his lips and offered a faint smile. “I am proud of you.”

  “Nay.” Duncan shook his head. “I never should have taken the risk.” He’d thought of little else the past several days.

  “Why? Because I’m an old man and cannot see beyond my own nose?”

  “There were other ways to ferret him out.”

  “But yours was the least risky of all.”

  Duncan gaped at Da’s ashen face—nearly as white as the bed linens. “How can you say that when you lie abed?”

  “Because you were right before we set out. I should have stayed behind.”

  Duncan pursed his lips. True, he’d asked his father not to go, but that did not make his decision right. He alone was responsible for this ill state of affairs. “What news while I’ve been away?” Another stupid question, but Duncan needed the conversation to go elsewhere.

  “Mother says she kens spring is on its way because the hens are laying.”

  “Are they?” Idle talk helped him steel his nerves.

  Da panted, seemingly unable to draw in enough air. “Aye, and Gyllis is teaching Marion and Alice the latest court dances.”

  “Have they been up to give you a demonstration?”

  “Earlier today, in fact.” Da closed his eyes. “Whilst Helen played her lute.”

  “It must have been quite a spectacle. I’m sorry I missed it.” Any other day, Duncan would have made every excuse to avoid such a performance.

  Da let out a long exhale, followed by several shallow breaths. “I could listen to Helen for hours. She’s as proficient as her mother.” He coughed and grimaced as if he were in a great deal of pain.

  Duncan tightened his grip around Da’s hand. “What can I do to ease your burden?”

  “We have built a fine force of men.” Da completely passed over Duncan’s question.

  “Aye, none better.”

  “Stay in the king’s good graces. Every good deed will be rewarded, and our coffers will grow.”

  Duncan nodded.

  “Do not let them grow soft.”

  “Never.”

  “You are their leader now. Never forget that they look up to you.”

  Duncan had been their leader for a while now, but there was no need to remind his father of it. “They’re all good men. You’ve trained them well.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the enforcers. I was talking about the entire clan.”

  Duncan blinked. When did the conversation move to the clan? But the change of topic wasn’t what bothered him. “Do not talk like that. You’ll preside over many gatherings to come.”

  Coughing again, a bead of sweat rolled down Da’s temple. “I can no longer feel my leg.”

  Duncan reached for a cloth and dabbed his father’s forehead. “It’ll come good.”

  Da snatched Duncan’s wrist and held it firm, his eyes turning dark. “I am a warrior and an old man. I do not want to live out the remainder of my life as an invalid.”

  Duncan nodded once, then tossed the rag aside with a trembling hand. Clenching every muscle in his body, he’d never show weakness in front of his father.

  “Promise me you’ll take care of your stepmother.”

  “Of course I will.”

  “And find husbands for your sisters.” Dad erupted in a coughing fit. “Blast it, I should have married Gyllis off by now.”

  Duncan wanted to take his father by the shoulders and shake him. Tell him he would be there to see his daughters wed, but he tightened his fists and resisted his urge to burst out and bellow. “The lasses will be fine.”

  “They are all beautiful creatures—each and every one in their own way.”

  “Aye, bonny like Ma.”

  Da grinned. “Your mother is the bonniest of them all.”

  Duncan sat beside him for hours. Sometimes in silence, and when Da would drift off, Duncan allowed himself to admire the man who’d fought for Christendom. Colin Campbell was the greatest hero in Scotland. A greater father a man could not have. He could spend his life trying to be half the man Da was and still wouldn’t succeed. But one thing was for certain. He vowed to strive to be as strong, as good-hearted, as brave, and as honorable as the man lying in that bed.

  As the night progressed, the family came in. The girls sat on the bed beside Da, all telling him fantastical stories—all painting on smiles and putting on courageous faces for him. That was how he wanted it. When John entered, he said not a word to Duncan—just sat in a chair and stared, as if he’d already passed judgment. John’s silence spoke volumes about Duncan’s guilt. He wouldn’t blame his younger brother for hating him. Duncan hated himself.

  In the wee hours before dawn, Duncan and Ma maintained a vigil beside the bed. Da opened his eyes and smiled at Ma. “I’ll always love you, Margaret,” he whispered.

  Then, with one last exhale, the Lord took him away.

  All of Argyllshire attended the funeral. Duncan imagined there were as many people in attendance as there were at the annual Beltane gathering at Dunstaffnage Castle. The church at Kilmartin was brimming with people, and even more clansmen and women stood outside, having come to pay their respects to the great legend.

  Duncan sat on one side of Ma, with John on her other. Iain had arrived with their uncle, the Earl of Argyll, and they filled the pew to John’s left. Iain had grown taller and had filled out since Duncan had last seen his you
ngest brother. He’d be a fine addition to the enforcers when he completed his fostering with Argyll.

  Lady Margaret had been a pillar of strength until the mass began, and then her wailing resounded off the walls with an eerie poignancy, making gooseflesh rise across Duncan’s skin. The love she harbored for Da was immeasurable, and the depth of her pain drove a spike into Duncan’s own heart. If only he could have been the one to take the arrow.

  Gyllis and her sisters sat to his right, all weeping and covering their faces with white kerchiefs. Duncan’s spirits sank. Aye, he would have given anything to be the man in the marble sarcophagus. The death mask had been ordered and would stand as a monument to the great knight for eternity.

  Duncan sat numbly and listened to the Latin mass. Life had a beginning and an end—birth, death and rebirth. That was the way of it. He was now the Lord of Glenorchy, and it was his responsibility to beget an heir who would one day preside over his own funeral. Closing his eyes, a picture of fiery red hair fluttering in the breeze captured his mind. Then Lady Meg’s angelic face smiled at him. He recounted their fleeting time together and how gruff he’d been with her at first. Most likely, she’d never forget his boorishness. He’d erred in so many ways.

  The priest swung the brass thurible, sending clouds of incense wafting throughout the nave. Duncan inhaled deeply, the heady aroma clearing his mind. As baron, there was much to do. He straightened and caressed Ma’s wimple. He would protect and defend his family and his clan until he took his last breath, just as Da had and his father before him. They were Campbells and proud—leaders of the great nation of Scotland.

  Now was the time to take the reins and lead. And by God, he would own up to that duty.

  24

  Sitting beside the hearth in his chamber, Duncan swirled the whisky in his goblet and stared at the amber liquid. His chest completely hollow, he doubted he possessed a soul. He needed to be alone. Behind closed doors, he could allow himself to come to grips with his loss. The tic above his eye twitched mercilessly—punishing him, no doubt.