Read Highland Surrender Online
Authors: Dawn Halliday
Highland Surrender (31 page)
“He’s representative of how poor leadership causes the Highlands to suffer.”
“Or perhaps how poor judgment can lead a family to ruin? In any case, I suggest you find worthier men to champion in the future.”
MacGregor opened the door.
“Oh, and MacGregor?”
His dark eyes brimming with annoyance, MacGregor turned to face him.
“If you know where Mrs. Roberts is, you might advise her to see my housekeeper. My household is growing, and I require more staff. Perhaps she possesses one of the skills Janet is looking for.”
MacGregor stilled, and some of the fire drained from his eyes. After a long pause, he said, “I will send her.”
With that, the man disappeared. Standing at Cam’s side, Charles whispered, “Well-done, my lord.”
Cam released a breath and gazed at his empty room. Perhaps he’d someday learn how to lead these people, after all.
That night at dinner, Elizabeth sat at the table demurely as always, eyes downcast, hands folded. As he watched her, Cam’s appetite deserted him. He pushed away his bowl of oxtail soup.
“You don’t care for the soup, my lord?” Elizabeth asked as a footman took it away. “I find it very pleasant.”
“It is excellent,” agreed her uncle.
“I fear I’m not very hungry tonight.” Cam cupped his glass in his hands and stared at his wine.
“That’s too bad, Camdonn, because it is really quite good.” The duke swiped a napkin over his lips. He looked from Elizabeth to Cam, and a slow grin spread across his face. “So. A little less than a fortnight now.”
Cam slid a glance at Elizabeth. “Yes.”
“I must say, I heartily enjoyed hearing your names when the banns were called at services this past Sunday. It made the event seem all too real.” The duke beamed. “I know you will be happy together. A perfect match, indeed.”
“Indeed.” Cam was grateful his tone sounded somewhat honest. Again, he glanced at Elizabeth. She gazed at her lap, expressionless.
“I daresay the two of you will make beautiful children,” the duke proclaimed. “The perfect combination of dark and light. Which shall prevail, I wonder?”
Cam couldn’t breathe. He braced his hands on the edge of the table, forcing them not to clench, forcing his itching feet not to stride away. He curved his lips into a grimacing smile. “Hopefully we will know the answer to that question very soon.”
“Ah, good,” the duke said. “Excellent. Lizzy will make an outstanding mother, and I do believe that the occupation of mothering will subdue her.”
Slowly, carefully, Elizabeth took a sip of her wine.
The sounds of her harsh gasps last night, her breathless cries of pleasure, rushed through Cam’s mind. Would mothering his children subdue her? Take away that passion he’d witnessed?
He kept his attention on the duke. “Why have you never married, Your Grace? Surely you have the wish to beget an heir?”
“Ah.” The duke took a long draft of wine. “Perhaps someday soon, but until now I have been too preoccupied with doing right by my only niece—the sole member of my family remaining after my brother and his wife and son were cruelly taken by smallpox.” He cast a loving glance at Elizabeth, which she returned with a smile. “Elizabeth was the only one who survived. She had suffered through tremendous pain and heartbreak. She required so much affectionate care to keep her young spirit from descending into permanent melancholy.”
“You have done right by her,” Cam said.
“Indeed you have, Uncle. And you have my never-ending gratitude.”
Cam stared at her, for the first time discerning a hint of disingenuousness in her words. Perhaps if he hadn’t heard her liaison with Rob, he wouldn’t have noticed. But every moment he was with her, it was becoming clearer that the core Elizabeth was a very different person from the icon of sweet perfection he’d thought he was to marry.
God, the girl was going to drive him mad.
How could he go through with a marriage to a woman he couldn’t trust? She’d reveal her true colors to Robert MacLean, but not him.
Never him.
It struck him that she might leave him, might run away with Rob. He pushed away the initial feeling of relief that thought elicited. As much as he’d like to easily solve the problem of his marriage to Elizabeth, he had no desire to face the embarrassment of that scandal.
In any case, from Elizabeth’s point of view, that action wouldn’t be sensible, or even reasonable. She’d lose everything. Her life would change for the worse. She was a pampered duke’s niece, not a woman who had been raised to weather the rough life of a Highland outcast. Surely she was intelligent enough to know all this.
Nevertheless, Cam realized, after that scene down by the loch, that Elizabeth was more than capable of making rash, illogical decisions.
He set down his wineglass on the ivory linen tablecloth. Maybe he should force her to be candid with him. Perhaps if he told her he knew about her and Rob, she would abandon her facade and finally be candid with him.
It might hurt both of them to be honest with each other. While he could easily reveal his heart, his hopes, his fears, and his thoughts to Ceana, the thought of doing so with Elizabeth gave him a sick, anxious feeling, and he couldn’t comprehend why.
Still, he must make the effort.
Soon.
A few hours later, Cam prepared for bed as Duncan puttered around his bedchamber. Cam looked up at the older man. “You knew my father, didn’t you, Duncan?”
“Aye, sir. I knew him very well. Worked at the castle as a serving boy when he and I were lads, and we became right good friends until he was sent away to school.”
“Do you remember the days after my mother died?”
Duncan’s lined face turned grave. He looked up from the pile of clothes he was folding. “Aye. Those were dark days. Dark days indeed.”
Cam got right to the point. “Do you remember the women he brought to his bed?”
My bed
, Cam thought bleakly, staring at the hulking carved oak bed with its heavy green and black damask bed curtains.
, Cam thought bleakly, staring at the hulking carved oak bed with its heavy green and black damask bed curtains.
“Er . . .” Duncan straightened, eyeing him with perceptive blue eyes. “Why do ye ask, milord?”
Cam shrugged. “Curiosity, I suppose.”
Duncan looked thoughtful. “Well, indeed, there was a string of ’em, sir. Just after Lady Camdonn departed this earth. I always thought it ’is way of mourning . . . of trying to find a replacement for her. But none of them was right, of course. They was all lasses from the Glen.”
“Who were they?”
Duncan frowned. “I can’t say I remember them all. MacDonald lasses. One or two MacLeans . . .” Duncan’s frown deepened. “One of them was married. A pretty one, she was. The husband eventually discovered her betrayal, and there was a big row betwixt the three of ’em, and she and the husband stole away late one night to never return to Camdonn Castle. The earl was furious, so he was—I think he was fonder of that lass than he was of the others. He sent a search party to retrieve them. Alas, they were never found.”
“What were their names?”
“Marian and . . . Peter, I think it was.” He scrunched his forehead as if he doubted himself. “It was long ago.”
“Do you remember the year? The month of their departure?”
Duncan gazed at him shrewdly. “Do you think you know them, milord? Have you met them? Do you remember the incident? Indeed, it caused quite an uproar, but everyone thought you too young—”
“Just answer the questions, Duncan.”
“I believe it was 1692, and . . . I cannot remember the month. The trees were bare . . . autumn?”
Cam sat in silence. Robert MacLean was twenty-four, which meant he was born after April in 1693. Could the couple Duncan spoke of be the parents of Robert MacLean? There was only one way to find out. He rose and strode to his wardrobe, taking out a fresh shirt and breeches.
Duncan frowned at him as he pulled on the breeches.
“There’s something I must do. Go to bed, Duncan.”
After the manservant left him, Cam hurried to the stables. Finding the stable door unlocked, he went in and mounted the stairs to Rob’s apartment. Light and warmth emanated from upstairs, so he knew the man was at home.
Hell, Elizabeth might be here. He paused near the bottom of the stairs. “Ho, MacLean? Are you here?”
He heard a scraping noise, and then Rob appeared at the top of the stairs. “Milord? Do you require assistance with one of the horses?”
“No. I . . . wish to speak with you about something.”
Rob paused, his expression very still, then said, “Please come up.”
Cam climbed the stairs and entered the stable master’s quarters. Rob led him to a chair Cam recognized as one of the chairs from Queen Anne’s time that his father had kept in his study before Cam had ordered the room refurbished for his own use.
“Would you like some ale? I haven’t any whisky.”
“Ale is fine.”
Cam was quiet while Rob poured the frothy mixture into a cup and handed it to him. He dragged a wicker chair close to Cam and lowered himself into it. “What brings you here, milord?”
Cam cleared his throat. “Have you learned anything about the highwaymen?”
Rob shook his head. “No. I’ve questioned Bram MacGregor. He claims he knows nothing of the attack, but—”
“Do you think he is the one who tried to kill me?” The thought had already crossed Cam’s mind. Several times, in fact, but he couldn’t accuse MacGregor of anything when he had no proof beyond the disrespectful way in which the man addressed him.
Rob steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “It is possible. He isn’t overly fond of you. Or your politics.”
“Neither is anyone else in the Glen,” Cam said dryly.
“Aye, well, true enough.”
“MacGregor is simply more open about it than the others.”
Rob nodded his agreement. “The Jacobites respect him. He distinguished himself at Sherrifmuir.”
“Did he? I wasn’t aware any of my men were at Sherrifmuir.”
“He was,” Rob said. “He slipped out and joined the MacDonalds when they made their late march south. He reappeared on your lands shortly after the battle, but the MacDonalds speak often of his bravery.”
“I see.”
He stared at the younger man sitting across from him. What would Robert MacLean do if Cam confronted him with the truth? Told him he’d witnessed what had occurred between him and Elizabeth last night?
No
. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to face any of that. Hell, he was still unsure what he thought about it. He was still damn uncertain of his own reaction to it. The fact that he didn’t feel any rage unsettled him more than anything.
. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to face any of that. Hell, he was still unsure what he thought about it. He was still damn uncertain of his own reaction to it. The fact that he didn’t feel any rage unsettled him more than anything.
Cam rubbed his forehead. Damn it, he didn’t want to be thinking of this now. He
couldn’t
think of this now.
couldn’t
think of this now.
He’d come for another purpose. At least he might know how to get to the bottom of this particular mystery. And once armed with the knowledge of the truth, he might have an inkling what to do about Rob and Elizabeth . . . and himself and Ceana.
Cam steeled himself. He breathed in the smells of leather and peat—masculine, earthy scents.
“I’ve a theory,” he said in a low voice.
“About the attacks?”
“No.” He took a deep swallow of ale. This was more difficult than he’d expected. “Please . . . bear with me. I’ve a few questions for you. It’ll become clear soon enough where this will lead.”
Rob’s forehead creased. “All right.”
“Where were you born?”
“Glasgow.”
“What were the names of your parents?”
Rob’s features tightened. “Why?”
Cam grimaced. “Answer the question.”
Rob swallowed. “My father was Peter MacLean,” he said slowly. “My mother died at my birth. Her name was Marian.”
It wasn’t proof, Cam reminded himself. He could be Peter’s son, not the old earl’s.
He stared at Rob, who sat very still in front of him.
“Who sired you?” Cam asked, his voice strained as it emerged from his tight throat. “Was it Peter MacLean, or was it another man?”
Rob’s face was immobile as stone, doing a fine job of hiding whatever the hell he was feeling. “I think you might know who sired me,” he said quietly.
“I think so too.”
For what seemed like an eternity, they stared at each other. The peat fire whispered, sending a flickering blue light over Rob’s features, and Cam realized for the first time that they were much like his own. Rob was lighter than him, shorter and wider, but his facial structure—the shape of his bones, nose, forehead, and lips—was similar to his own. Similar to their father’s.
Cam rose from the chair abruptly. He prowled around the room, analyzing it. This was his brother’s home. He studied the discards of old furniture from Camdonn Castle. He paused at the long workbench against the wall below the rows of tall windows looking toward the keep. He gazed down at the tools as well as the strips of leather and birch that covered it. He glanced at Rob. “What do you do here?”
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