Amanda Scott (5 page)

When Rory had said callously that if Campbells were to put off marriage for a full year after every Campbell death, they would never marry at all, Duncan had leapt at him and tried to knock him down. To his humiliation, Rory had just stepped aside and told him he was drunk and to go soak his head.

Thinking about that now, Duncan’s lips twitched with sudden grim humor. They had nearly come to blows more than once, the pair of them, but somehow (doubtless because Rory had better control over his temper than Duncan had over his) they had never fought. Had they done so, he knew the end would have been a near thing, because Rory was nearly of a size with him, but he thought he would have prevailed. He had had more practice, after all, with violence.

Having taken the field during the late uprising, he had proved himself in battle, while Rory had followed in Argyll’s train, spending more time in London than in Scotland. Not that Duncan held that against him. He had come to respect his cousin deeply. He even liked him, but he was glad that Rory was in Perthshire now and not in Argyll. Rory would not approve of what he meant to do about Allan Breck, and he would strongly disapprove of any visit to MacCrichton.

“The lads are ready now, master,” Bannatyne said from the doorway. “The breeze blows from the west.”

“Too bad it’s not from the south,” Duncan said, getting to his feet. He picked up his dirk from the desktop and shoved it into his boot, adjusting the boot top so the weapon did not show too easily. Then, taking a dark-blue wool cloak from the back of a chair where he had tossed it earlier, he flung it over his shoulders, picked up his gloves and hat, and strode past Bannatyne across the hall and outside.

The air felt crisp and cold, and dark clouds were gathering in the north, but the wind, as Bannatyne had said, blew straight from the west. Perhaps the forthcoming storm would miss them, but he knew that he might find himself returning to Dunraven instead of going on to Balcardane after he paid his visit to MacCrichton. Someone would have to bring the boat back, in any event.

The other two men were waiting, ready to set sail the minute he and Bannatyne were aboard. The boat was good sized, a seaworthy craft, requiring a crew of at least two or three. Loch Creran was not wide, but it was six miles long and emptied into the Lynn of Lome near its confluence with Loch Linnhe. Good boats were assets, and several that he had seen sailing the loch qualified more as small ships than as mere sailboats.

They had the loch to themselves, however, when they set out. With the wind coming from west they could not sail straight across, and tacking to the east took time. Watching the far coast, Duncan soon saw with satisfaction that the rest of his men had reached their position. They would move no farther unless he signaled to them, or did not reappear within an hour after entering the castle.

No one challenged them when they approached the wooden dock below the water gate at Shian, but Duncan could see a watchman standing at the corner of the battlements, overlooking the main track to the castle as well as the loch approach.

Duncan exchanged a look with Bannatyne, saying, “Perhaps MacCrichton posts guards as a matter of habit.”

“Aye, sir, we do the same at Balcardane.”

Disembarking, they left two men with the boat and climbed the steep escarpment to the water gate, which remained closed. The watchman, however, had moved nearer. He stood just above them now.

“Ho there,” Duncan shouted. “I want speech with the laird.”

“Who are you?”

“Duncan Campbell, Master of Dunraven. Tell him I request hospitality.”

The man nodded and turned away. Several moments later, the water gate opened, and another man bade them welcome and led them toward the entrance.

Duncan looked around curiously. He counted seven men, none of whom seemed obviously to carry arms. He did not think for a moment that they could not defend themselves, however.

Bannatyne muttered, “Shall I stay here in the courtyard, master?”

“No, we’ll stay together. I don’t want to come out again to find you spitted over a slow fire. The lads can cast off if they must, but you’d be all on your own.”

They followed their guide up the wooden stairway to the entrance, where he pushed open the heavy door without ceremony and went directly up a spiral flight of stone steps, clearly expecting them to follow.

So intent was Duncan upon obtaining a clear picture of the castle layout that he did not instantly pay heed to a masculine voice raised in anger above. However, as they neared the first doorway in the stone wall, he distinctly heard, “… a harsh lesson, my lass, but learn it you will, and right speedily. The sooner you know that you’ve got to do what I say, the better!”

Duncan’s guide had reached the opening, and he stopped there, clearly stunned. Looking back at Duncan, clearly having second thoughts about having brought him there, he looked again into the room.

Just then, Duncan heard cloth tearing and a shriek of terror or fury.

The man above him on the stairs, apparently having made up his mind, turned back toward him, saying urgently, “We’d best go back d—”

He did not finish, for Duncan pushed roughly past him into the great hall, where he saw MacCrichton with one arm around the waist of a fiercely struggling female. Her bare backside faced Duncan, and slim bare legs flashed furiously as she tried to kick her captor, but MacCrichton held her firmly bent over his knee. Thick tawny hair covered her face. Her dress lay in tatters at his feet, and her chemise had bunched up above the muscular arm that held her. In his free hand, raised to strike, MacCrichton held a riding whip. One fiery red line already striped her bottom.

His attention diverted to the doorway, MacCrichton snarled, “Get out!”

Behind Duncan, his guide said anxiously, “He claimed hospitality, laird. Said he wanted speech wi’ ye. Tis Black Duncan Campbell, laird.”

“The devil it is. Well, if you’ve come for the lass, Duncan, you’re too late. She’s a wild piece, but she agreed to marry me and she’s spent a full night here, so I have every right now to tame her as and when I please. Here, lass, stand up and bid a civil good-morning to Black Duncan.”

The girl had gone utterly still, and she did not move until MacCrichton dumped her unceremoniously to the floor. Then, hastily pulling her chemise down to cover her, and pushing her thick hair back from her face, she looked at Duncan.

She was the last person he had expected to see at Shian Towers. Concealing his shock, albeit with difficulty, he said evenly, “Accept my compliments on your marriage, mistress. You have come by your just dessert, I believe.”

M
ARY’S SHOCK AT SEEING
Black Duncan in the great hall at Shian Towers suppressed the agony of the single whip stroke, but embarrassment and humiliation washed over her when he spoke. She would have begged help from almost anyone just then, but when his scathing words and sarcastic tone made it clear that he would ignore her plea, she decided she would rather die at Ewan’s hand than give Duncan that satisfaction.

Ewan chuckled. “As you see, her manners need mending, but perhaps that does not surprise you, since she was friendly with your brother, Ian.”

“They were acquainted,” Duncan said curtly. “You say you are betrothed to her, MacCrichton?”

“I am,” Ewan said, shooting Mary a look that dared her to deny it.

“I wish you happiness then and thank you for your hospitality.”

Cursing herself for cowardice, Mary held her tongue and reached for the frock Ewan had torn from her body. Gathering it close, she watched him warily, but his attention had darted back to Black Duncan.

“You don’t require hospitality,” Ewan snapped. “My people ought never to have let you in, and I’ll have something to say to them, I can tell you.” He glared at the man who had accompanied Duncan.

Near them, standing quietly, Mary saw the man who had brought her downstairs. Another, in the stairwell, she suspected was Duncan’s man. Knowing he frequently traveled with a tail that would do a clan chief proud, and wondering how many had accompanied him to Shian, she drew her frock closer and inched away from Ewan toward the table in the center of the room. Ewan paid her no heed, but Black Duncan was watching her. Perhaps, if he meant trouble, as he generally did, she would find a way to escape during the confusion.

Duncan said in his usual curt way, “I come in peace, MacCrichton. I want information from you, which is why I claimed hospitality from your people. They are Highlanders, so they had little choice but to grant my request. Surely you do not deny hospitality to anyone who requests it.”

“That depends on how many men he brings with him,” Ewan said.

“Just three, laird,” his man interjected hastily. “Two remained in the boat.”

Ewan grunted and went on without taking his eyes off Duncan, “Even so, you Campbells have a reputation for abusing hospitality that goes back nigh onto a hundred years. Or perhaps they do not teach Campbell children about Glencoe.”

“That was a hundred years ago. My home is not far from there, you know.”

“Aye, and Balcardane is yet another example of Campbell thievery,” Ewan said harshly. “That castle belonged to Stewarts for three hundred years, sir, before your lot snatched it away.”

“That, like the massacre, occurred before I was born,” Duncan said. “I came in peace to hold private speech with you about a matter of importance to me.”

“Did you now?”

Mary straightened, gathering the remnants of her frock around her. Still moving steadily away from Ewan, she edged toward the doorway.

Abruptly, Duncan said, “Send the lass and your men away, and I will send my man downstairs. We can talk better without an audience.”

“I’ll keep one of my men,” Ewan said. “I don’t trust any Campbell, and I’d as lief have a witness to what you say to me. You stay, MacSteele.” He gestured to the one who had escorted Mary from her room.

“In that case, I’ll keep my man, too.” Duncan stood his ground, his very posture a challenge to Ewan to argue the point.

“As you will then,” Ewan said. “I can attend to the lass later. I’ve given her something to think about, at all events. She’s run her own course for far too long, but I am not a man to let a lass twist him round her thumb.”

“I’ll wager you are not,” Black Duncan said, sounding almost amiable.

Mary waited no longer, hurrying to the doorway and bolting past the men, then upstairs to the tower bedchamber, where she found Chuff on the point of departure. The boy had swept the hearth and made up the bed. The tray with her dishes waited for him at the top of the stairs.

“Oh, Chuff, I’m glad you are still here,” she exclaimed when he stared at her in astonishment. “Can you fetch me a rope, a long rope? Strong, too,” she added.

“I might,” he said with a shrewd look. “What happened tae your dress, and why are ye wanting the rope, forbye?”

“I must get away from here, Chuff. I cannot stay.”

“The laird tore your gown off.” It was a statement, not a question.

“He did more than that, and he means to do more yet. I must get away!”

“I’ll no lock the door, then. He’ll be wroth wi’ me, I’m thinking, but—”

“Thank you, but it would do me no good. His men guard this stairway, and even if I could sneak down a service stair, I could never get beyond the courtyard without the men there seeing me. And what he would do then …”

Chuff shuddered. “Ye needna tell me, but what good can a rope be?”

“If it is long enough, I can tie it to the bedpost and climb down it to the ground outside the wall.”

“Nay, then, ye’ll fall!”

“No, I won’t. Oh, don’t argue with me, Chuff. Will you do as I ask?”

“Aye, then, I will, but only if ye tak’ me with ye. I ken fine the woods behind the castle, and the ridge beyond them, too.”

“Oh, Chuff, I mustn’t do that. It’s too dangerous, and cold besides, and—”

“Then ye shouldna go either, and I doot I’ll find ye a rope.”

Mary hesitated. If she agreed to take him, and if Ewan caught them, she did not even want to think about what he would do to either of them.

Evidently taking her hesitation for reluctance, Chuff said, “I canna stay here if I help ye. The laird … It isna that I am a coward, so ye needna be thinking I am. There are things ye dinna ken. I can tell ye all about it, if ye like, but it will tak’ a deal o’ talking, and so—”

“You can go with me. Just hurry, Chuff, and mind now, get a long rope!”

The boy hurried off, leaving the tray where it lay, and Mary shut the door. For a moment, she considered her chances of slipping down into the courtyard and out by the postern or water gate, but she dismissed the thought as foolish. The only chance she had lay in getting away while Ewan talked with Black Duncan, and the courtyard would never be empty of men while an enemy remained inside. As it was, she would fail if Ewan had taken it into his head to post guards to watch for any more of Duncan’s men who might be approaching from the hills.

That thought stirred her to action. Swiftly, she cast aside her tattered frock, and found a fresh one in her case, of plain brown camlet with a simple ankle-length skirt and matching jacket. The outfit was one she generally wore to walk in the hills or by the shore. Slipping the dress on, she struggled to fasten all the buttons, which marched down the back and with which she generally required help. But she finished the task unaided in record time.

Quickly donning the jacket, she replaced the thin shoes she had worn with half boots, and as a second thought, found a pair of leather gloves and her cloak. It was cold out, and she did not know if she could reach Maclean House in a day. If she went toward Loch Linnhe, and the weather held, she could make it, but that was the most likely route for her, a fact that would not escape Ewan’s notice.

She decided to go up Glen Creran. Ewan would not look for her that way until he had tried the other, and she could seek refuge with Bardie Gillonie, whose cottage lay in a small side glen near the top of Glen Duror.

She finished dressing before Chuff returned, all the while listening carefully for heavier footsteps on the stairs. Her tension increased by the minute. Pacing, she thought of a dozen things that could go wrong.