Beloved Imposter (38 page)

“Rory said nothing to me about this,” she said, her heart dropping to her feet. She thought again about their conversation in the nursery, the sadness in him. Had he been saying good-bye?

Douglas was silent.

“If I just disappear …”

Again silence.

“He could not let anyone know, or someone would come for me,” she said. “My uncle will believe the Macleans killed me, just as his ancestor tried to kill another Campbell. He will go after Rory, just as our family killed the Maclean who tried to kill his Campbell wife. Rory and the clan.”

“I am beginning to learn something of our laird,” Douglas said. “He has something in mind. He would not allow the clan to be hurt.”

Perhaps not the clan but himself?

She continued to turn thoughts over in her mind, to find a thread to follow.

Jamie. Lachlan
. Another scene flashed in her mind. Rory fighting in the courtyard. It was the first time she had seen him train. She knew from others that he had eschewed fighting some time in the past and had turned sailor and merchant. She also knew sieges often ended with personal combat between two champions, with little consequence for the people of the losing side other than a new laird.

He would never allow his clan to suffer for a decision he had made.
A decision to help her.
Did he fear he might lose and she would be sent to Morneith? Was that why he wanted her aboard a ship?

She closed her eyes. She could bear the latter, but not the former.

Neither could she risk even the possibility of the clan being destroyed because she did not wish to marry the man chosen for her. She thought of Alina. Moira. Robina.

Would the clan blame Rory for letting her go?

She could not let him fight her battles. “I will not go.”

“Then I was told to put you aboard.”

“I will find a way to return.”

He was silent for a long time, then he sighed deeply. “Archibald was right about one thing. You are a good match for my lord.”

“Even though I am a Campbell?” she said.

He smiled for the first time since she had met him. “There are always exceptions.” But then his face sobered. “Come, my lady, I must get you aboard.”

She thought about turning the horse and running, but his gelding looked far swifter than her mare. And once they went down to the beach, there would be more men waiting.

There was but one way.

He started to turn toward the path down to the beach. She suddenly kicked the mare and pulled tightly upward against the reins. The mare, unused to such treatment, reared, and Felicia kicked her feet loose, from the stirrups and slid from the horse.

In a second, Douglas had dismounted and knelt by her side. “My lady, are you all right?”

She moved slightly, then moaned as if agony had just struck her.

She heard him mutter what sounded like a curse.

She knew he could not risk moving her, not without help. He went to the crest of the hill that sloped down toward the shore. His back was turned to her, and then he started down, apparently to seek help.

His horse was closer to her than to him.

Do not turn!

She moved quickly, mounting his horse, then leaned down and grabbed her mare’s reins as well. He turned then, but it was too late. She dug her heels into his mount’s side and, leading the mare, she rode away, ignoring his shouts.

He would have miles to walk to get back to Inverleith.

She would have a fine head start.

She was not sure where she would go. She only knew she had to reach her uncle and convince him that the abduction had been purely her doing. She would tell her uncle there was no blame to be found with the Macleans and that she would marry as he wished.

It was, she thought numbly, the only way to save Rory Maclean and his clan.

Still, her heart was broken, and she thought it could never heal. She realized that her prison had turned into a home, and her jailers into family. She would probably never return, never see them again.

But he had been ready to risk everything for her, even his life, and she could do no less for him.

Jamie had seen Morneith before, but he had been a young man intent more on the pleasures of the court man sizing up its courtiers. He had never had a conversation with him, and all he knew came from rumors.

Rumors could be unreliable.

He prepared carefully for supper. He found a source outside the castle where he obtained a good wine. A small keg, in truth. He talked to the cook inside the castle and gave her a gold piece to provide special delicacies.

And then he talked to his father about who should use the small spyhole.

It had to be someone trusted by King James. A member of the Campbell family would be suspect. It came down to his future father-in-law who offered to help. Though he was allied with the Campbell clan, Dugald Cameron was well known for his independence and loyalty to the crown. He had fought with James when he invaded Northumberland years earlier in behalf of Perkin Warbeck, pretender to the English throne.

To Jamie’s surprise, his father agreed to talk to Dugald. The Cameron had been outraged by the prospect of a traitor at court, and also by the fact that his future son-in-law had been followed and possibly was in jeopardy.

Once all was set, Jamie waited. The spyhole was in the anteroom of the space allotted for his father when he was at court. Only a few other confidants to the king rated such privileges.

The king himself had shown the spyhole to Angus Campbell. The castle was a hotbed of intrigue, and it behooved one to know his enemies, he’d said, hinting that there were others elsewhere.

There was a small room behind the one where he awaited Morneith. It was entered from the room next to this one through the wardrobe and was large enough for one person. The hole was nearly invisible. If someone did not know it was there, it would be almost impossible to detect.

Dugald was there now, his large body cramped into a small chair.

The appointed time came. And went.

Morneith arrived late, as if he, too, were making a point.

The man who had called on Jamie with Morneith’s card was with him. His expression was not cordial.

“I am sorry I was not clear,” Jamie said. “The invitation was for the earl only.”

“No misunderstanding, young Campbell. Cleve will wait outside.”

The man nodded cordially at Jamie, but his eyes were as cold as any Jamie had seen. Without speaking, he stepped outside and closed the door.

Jamie raised an eyebrow.

“I am an important man and as such have enemies. I take precautions. You might consider that as well, young Campbell.”

“It is Lord James,” Jamie corrected him with a bland smile.

“Lord James, then,” he said. “I am honored, and may I add, a little surprised.”

“We have friends in common,” Jamie said, “but we will talk of that later. Try this wine. I was told it is excellent.” He poured from a pitcher into goblets, and took a sip from his own.

So did Morneith. Appreciation spread across his face. “It
is
excellent. From the king?”

Jamie allowed the earl to think so. It raised his level of influence.

They supped and exchanged pleasantries. Jamie was weighing the earl and knew that, in turn, he was being weighed.

Unlike Jamie’s father, Morneith was a lean man in build and had a hungry—and cruel—look about him. He wore a mantle of rich, green velvet, and his belt was adorned with jewels.

“I have just returned from London,” Jamie said, leading the conversation where he wanted it to go.

Morneith raised an eyebrow as if to ask why that information might be of importance to him.

“I overheard a conversation about Maclean lands,” Jamie continued. “And a sum of twenty-five thousand pounds.” He prayed that Rory Maclean’s information was factual.

“And why would I have interest in this?” Morneith asked.

“Campbells have an intense interest in what happens to Maclean lands.”

“You still have not explained why I should care.”

“Because the conversation I overheard was between Woolsey and Buckingham. I do not think it is a conversation that would please King James.”

Morneith showed no emotion. He just waited.

“It seems that the English Crown might have some interest in obtaining supporters in the Scottish court.”

“I am sure that would be the English hope,” Morneith said.

Jamie decided to go to the heart of the matter before Dugald Cameron became bored. “Your name was mentioned as well, my lord.”

Morneith sat up. “That is a calumny.”

“Mayhap, though I think not and doubt King James would see it as such. He does not like traitors. I understand he will return in three days from his hunting trip.”

“You have no proof.”

“I do not think King James will need much more.”

“You have concocted this fairy tale to get my lands,” Morneith said. ” ‘Tis no secret the Campbells have coveted them.” He laughed. “James will see through your small plot.” He started to rise.

“There are others who know as well,” Jamie said with a slight smile. “I think they are people the king will trust.”

“Not your father, or he would have called off my betrothal to his niece,” Morneith blustered.

“You do not see her here,” Jamie said with a small shrug.

“I heard she was hostage of the Macleans.”

Jamie just smiled.

For the first time, doubt—and fear—entered Morneith’s eyes. “What do you want?”

“I have not yet told my father,” Jamie said, “but I have urged him to reconsider the betrothal.” He took a leisurely sip of wine. “I find myself in need of a loan. A substantial one. Perhaps one-half of the twenty-five thousand pounds you received from the English.”

Morneith glanced around the room. It was small, and they were alone. His own man stood guard outside.

“Blackmail, young Campbell?”

“An ugly word. I prefer to call it a partnership between future in-laws.”

“And what will keep you from exploiting this partnership in the future?”

“We will be relatives, my lord.”

“If you say anything,” Morneith said, “I will deny all. I will have witnesses that you came to me with a plot to join the English, and I refused. After all, you were just at the English court. I have not been there.”

“Aye, but you
have
been on the border.”

A twitch in Morneith’s cheek indicated Jamie had struck a blow. The questions the earl apparently still had were whether Jamie had any other proof and who else knew. And who in London had talked to him? It was information he would have to have to keep his head.

Treason could result in terrible penalties.

So far, Morneith had avoided any direct admission. He could claim he was simply trying to trap Jamie. But then he could have no idea a third person was listening.

Jamie hoped that Cameron could hear everything. But he knew he had to lead Morneith into more damaging information.

“I want the promise of Maclean lands,” he said. “I understand other lands were promised to you as well as gold.”

Morneith merely nodded. An easy promise to make with no paper involved, and the earl knew there could be no paper. It would damn Jamie as much as himself.

And a promise was easy when one of the parties intended to kill the other. Jamie was quite sure that was what was intended.

“It is a bargain then?” he asked.

“As you said, a partnership. But it will take me several days to get the funds together.”

“I await your pleasure,” Jamie said.

Looking into Morneith’s coal black eyes, he knew pleasure was not what Morneith had in mind, unless it was the pleasure of killing him.

Minutes after Morneith left, Cameron knocked and entered. He did not ask, but poured himself a tankard of wine.

“My God,” he said.

“Is it sufficient to go to the king?”

“Nay. It is enough for me, but the king? Or for a conviction of treason? I think not. Morneith was cautious, and as he said, he could always claim he was testing
you
.”

“We need money to exchange hands,” Jamie said.

“Aye. But I will report what I heard to your father. He may believe differently.”

“I will go with you,” James said.

Moments later, they were in his father’s luxurious furnished room. Cameron spoke first. Then Jamie.

Angus Campbell’s face flushed with anger, then darkened. “The blackguard,” he said. “But Dugald is right. The king will require more proof. He has set Morneith high and will not want to look the fool for doing so.”

“I will arrange another meeting,” Jamie said. “Mayhap with someone the king trusts above all men.”

Both James and Cameron looked at Angus. He had demurred earlier, because his son was involved and his loyalty might be suspect. But now Cameron was involved, he might feel differently.

“Aye, boy, I will do it.”

Chapter 26

“God’s eyes, you allowed a lass to outwit you?”

Douglas winced. He did not do that often. In truth, Rory had never seen him flinch before.

“I did not think—” Douglas snapped his mouth shut. He looked miserable. He had walked miles back to Inverleith and had, no doubt, berated himself all the way back.

“I want every horseman out looking for her. She will head for either Dunstaffnage or the Cameron keep,” Rory said, though he had a very bad feeling that they would not find her. She was uncommonly resourceful.

Douglas looked even more miserable as he hurried off to dispatch search parties.

Guilt, an altogether too familiar feeling lately, rushed through him. Felicia’s escape was not Douglas’s fault. It was his own.

He should have confided in her about the plan to trap Morneith. At least then she would know what she was walking into. Her conversation with Douglas made it clear she felt at fault for the coming siege.

Why had he not told her what they had planned?

It did not matter that her cousin agreed with him. He had learned how reckless she could be, how determined.

But that had not been the only reason. He’d been reluctant to share any part of himself or to trust anyone other than himself. He had lost too much. And that raid years ago had made him feel unworthy. He’d often felt that the death of his child and wives were retribution for his past deeds and not a result of the curse at all. He felt he deserved to be alone. He did not want responsibility for anyone but himself.