The Campbell Trilogy (101 page)

After the meal, when the tables were cleared for the dancing to begin, she waited anxiously, half-hoping that Duncan would seek her out. Instead, it was Colin who asked her to dance. With one last glance toward Duncan, who seemed to be partaking of copious amounts of the castle
cuirm
, she followed Colin to the dance floor.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

Jeannie looked up at Colin and managed a wobbly smile. “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry if I seem a bit distracted. I’m afraid the day has been quite hectic.”

Colin waved off her apology. “You’ve done a magnificent job. Your father is a fortunate man to have you.” He gave her a sly smile. “Though I expect he won’t for much longer.”

Jeannie glanced at him in surprise, wondering if he knew something about Duncan. But his gaze was perfectly guileless. She exhaled slowly, realizing it had
merely been a general observation. Thankfully, she was saved from having to reply by the demands of the reel.

She loved to dance, but not even the enlivening steps and joyful sounds of the pipes could lift her flagging spirits. The last notes had just been played when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Duncan leave the hall. Muttering a quick excuse to Colin, she wound her way through the dense crowd of raucous clansmen and followed him outside—pride forgotten with the urge to talk to him.

The midday meal had extended well into the evening hours and the sun was just beginning its descent when she exited the hall.

After scrambling down the wooden forestairs, she stood at the bottom, looking back and forth, wondering where he could have gone to. The yard was deathly quiet. With the feasting inside, only a handful of guardsmen kept watch at the gate.

Freuchie Castle was a “Z”-shaped tower house with a large
barmkin
surrounded by a tall
barmkin
wall. A few wooden outbuildings lined the south side of the wall, including the stables and barracks. Deciding that the latter was the more likely, she headed across the yard.

The large door opened with a shaky squeak and she stepped inside.

It was dark, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust. But she’d found him. Duncan was sitting on his pallet with his back against the wall, a flagon at his side. Her heart beat fraught with concern. She’d never seen him drink so heavily—he seemed on a mission to get drunk.

His eyes met hers. They stared at one another for a long pause. He tossed back the contents of his cup and slowly stood. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you,” she said, refusing to be hurt by his rudeness. “Did you not care for the feast?”

Piercing blue eyes bored into her with a dangerous intensity.
The anger that she’d sensed earlier had only grown worse. The calm control that she’d always admired in him had fled, to be replaced by a dangerous volatility. “Not as much as you did,” he said.

Jeannie sucked in her breath, stunned by the unexpected lash of vitriol in his voice. She heard the sharp accusation but could not guess its source. “What is that supposed to mean?”

His hard jaw was pulled tight, the corners of his mouth white. “Nothing,” he said stiffly. “Return to your guests, my lady.”

My lady?
She took a tentative step toward him. Where was the man she knew at court? The one she’d given her heart—she gulped, her
body
—to? “Duncan, what’s wrong? Why are you treating me like this?” A hot ball lodged in her throat and tears gathered behind her eyes. “Tell me. Did I do something wrong?”

He stared down at her and their eyes met. The anger that had raged so furiously inside him just as quickly died. His expression softened. The vise squeezing around her heart loosened. Once more he was the man she’d fallen in love with.

He shook his head. “Nay, love. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Then what is it? Did it not go well with your father?”

He made a sharp sound low in his throat. “You might say that.”

He was hurting and instinctively she wanted to sooth his pain. She put her hand on his arm. “Tell me.”

He stared at her hand for a moment, then lifted his eyes to hers, his voice toneless as he informed her of his father’s refusal to help them and of the proposed betrothal with Colin.

She shook her head, stunned. “That’s impossible. My
father wouldn’t arrange my marriage without telling me.” Would he?

“Nothing has been formally agreed. I assume he is waiting to speak with you.”

“And when he does, I will tell him it is impossible. That I love another.”

He was watching her carefully, too carefully. “Are you sure that is what you want?”

“Of course. How could you even think—”

She stopped. Her eyes narrowed. “Just what did you think, Duncan Campbell?”

He shrugged. He meant it to look a careless gesture, but Jeannie could see the tension in the stiff set of his shoulders. “Colin will be chief.”

Was that the reason for this anger? She took a step back and gazed up at him, shaking her head with incredulity. “You’re jealous.”

He folded his arms across his chest, every inch the proud Highland Warrior. “Don’t be daft.”

Momentarily distracted by the prominent bulge of muscle, it took her a few seconds to respond. Forcing her gaze from the rock-hard arms, she looked into his eyes. “How could you even think I would consider marrying anyone else?”

“Don’t you understand, Jeannie? Without my family’s support I will have nothing but my sword for us to live on.”

And all that he’d worked for would be lost—a brutal blow for an ambitious man like him. Her heart caught. Did he regret his vow? She took a deep breath, no matter what it cost her she would not force him to marry her. “Do you still wish to marry me?”

He appeared shocked by her question. “Of course.”

Jeannie tamped down the spike of relief. “Even if it means risking your position with your father and cousin?”

Duncan straightened as if she’d impinged his honor even by the suggestion. “I know well what is at stake.” Piercing blue eyes bit into her and the raw intensity of his voice left her no doubt. “I love you and would walk through the fire pits of hell to have you.”

Jeannie smiled through the tears. That was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to her. “Can you not afford me the same courtesy of knowing my own heart? I wouldn’t want to marry your brother even if he was the king himself. I only want you.” Her heart pounded in her chest as she grappled with the importance of what she was about to say.

Never would she have imagined herself in this position. She thought of her mother. Of the destruction she’d left in her wake. But this was different. She would not be leaving a husband and children behind. Her father would be hurt. Her brother and sisters disappointed …

She took a deep breath. No matter the cost, she would follow her heart. “I will marry you even if it means we must do so without our families’ permission.”

His eyes scanned her face, seeming to realize what that must have cost her. She could see the relief wash over him and he pulled her into his arms, hugging her against him as if he would never let her go. She lifted her face to his and he kissed her. A tender, poignant kiss that tugged on every string of her heart. Heat and happiness washed over her.

Lifting his head, he cupped her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. When this war with Huntly is won I will think of some way to persuade my father to help us.”

Jeannie nodded, wanting to believe it was possible, but fearing what would happen if it didn’t. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something horrible was going to happen. “What if something goes wrong? Can’t we just leave right now?”

His expression hardened, his gaze challenging. “Would you have me leave my clansmen to fight without me? I am captain until my father tells me otherwise.”

She winced, hearing the admonition in his voice. Of course he would never leave his men. He would do his duty not just because he had to, but because it was who he was—a warrior. A leader. She’d recognized it in him from the first; it was one of the things that had drawn him to her. He would not be the man she loved if he did differently, no matter how much she wanted him to be safe.

She laid her head on the wall of his chest, taking comfort in the steady beat of his heart. She would never forget the way he smelled—clean and fresh as a warm sea breeze. “I don’t want you to go.”

He sighed and stroked his hand over her hair as if he was soothing a child. “I know.”

She lifted her head. “It will be dangerous.”

“Aye.”

“What if you are hurt?”

His mouth curved. “I will recover.”

“But what if you …”

He stopped her with a look. He was right, she shouldn’t even think it.

He cupped her chin in his big hand. “I will come back to you, my love. On that you may depend.”

She was. “Just make sure that you do.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “With all your parts intact. I find that I am most looking forward to being a wife.”

He grinned, revealing the roguish dimple on his left cheek. Her heart squeezed. The dark as midnight hair, the cobalt eyes, the strong, masculine features … he was so handsome, sometimes she couldn’t believe he was really hers.

“Don’t worry, lass, whatever it takes we will be man and wife.”

Early the next morning, Duncan rode away from Freuchie Castle, his head considerably clearer than when he’d arrived. He hadn’t realized how much the situation with Jeannie had been weighing on him. Now that it was resolved, and he was secure in the knowledge that no matter what befell them, they would find a way to be together, he could focus his full attention on the task at hand—namely the commission given to his cousin Argyll to pursue the rebel Huntly with Fire and Sword.

After weeks of planning, the fighting was finally upon them and Duncan was eager for it to begin. He was always like this before battle: restless, senses heightened, blood surging a little faster through his veins. The strange sensation of having never felt more alive at the moment the possibility of death drew near.

He knew Jeannie had been worried and wished he could help her understand how it was for him—why he needed this. On the battlefield, men weren’t judged by their birth, but by their skills. On the battlefield—leading, making decisions, fighting—he was in his element. On the battlefield, he would make a name for himself, one where “bastard” did not signify.

He wiped the dust and sweat that had gathered at his brow beneath the helm of his knapscall, squinting against the blinding sunlight as they drove east. Ahead lay the Hills of Cromdale and beyond that their destination
, Drumin Castle. Drumin was strategically located at the juncture of the Rivers Livet and Avon, a good place from which to plan the attack on Strathbogie—Huntly’s stronghold—reputed to be one of the finest castles in Scotland. Ironically, Drumin Castle also belonged to Huntly, but was currently under the stewardship of Jeannie’s father.

Duncan scanned the wide stretches of rolling heather-covered hills for any sign of a disturbance. Enemy scouts would be watching for them. With so many men, they would not have the advantage of surprise. It was inevitable that Huntly would know they were coming.

Their plan was to muster at Drumin with the other clans who’d answered the king’s call to arms, and await King James’s orders to attack. King James himself was only a few days march south in Dundee. Argyll was in charge until he arrived, though Duncan suspected his cousin wouldn’t willingly relinquish control.

His cousin was chomping at the bit to prove his mettle. Archie was one of the most important magnates in Scotland, but his relationship with the king was at times strained. Both were young men in their prime, recently freed from the leading strings of guardians, eager to establish their authority. At times that pursuit put them at loggerheads. Undoubtedly it hadn’t escaped the king’s notice that in the Highlands, Argyll was referred to as “King Campbell.”

Duncan rode beside his cousin at the head of a force of nearly two thousand Campbells. With the rest of the clans and men who’d answered the king’s call, they would be nearly ten thousand strong. In addition to Grant’s men, they would be joined by their cousins, Campbells of Lochnell and Cawdor, MacLean of Duart, the MacGregors, the Mackintoshes, and the MacNeils.

A significant force, aye, but few of those were trained soldiers—even fewer had protective armor or a mount.
He glanced around behind him at the long line of foot soldiers, seeing precious little silvery steel glinting in the sun, only the occasional knapscall and habergeon, the sleeveless coat of mail, such as he wore.

“Something bothering you, cousin?”

Duncan turned to find Argyll watching him. He frowned, considering the question. He supposed there was. “I’d hoped to see more men on horseback.”

From any other source, Duncan knew the comment would be perceived by his cousin as a criticism, but they’d been fostered together and Duncan never hesitated to speak his mind. It was probably why Argyll relied upon him—he could trust Duncan not to toady to him. Not that his cousin always heeded his advice. Nay, Argyll had a mind of his own, unfortunately with all the arrogance of youth and position.