The Campbell Trilogy (107 page)

He made his decision and turned to face his father’s men—now his—explaining his plan. He called out the names of five of his fiercest warriors, all of whom he knew to be unmarried and without bairns. His jaw clenched. Like him.

“I’ll not force you to go,” he said. “There is every chance you’ll not return.” He looked around the circle of men, seeing no hesitation, but fierce determination on their dirty, scraped-up faces. And he saw something else. Trust. They trusted him—not only to lead them into battle, but to bring them home or follow him to the death. He felt a charge go through him, emboldened, and knew without a doubt that this was his destiny.

Neil, one of the older guardsmen, spat on the ground. “Hell, Captain, ’tis the damned Gordons who’ll sup with the devil before the day is done.”

Duncan grinned. “Aye, then we’d best not delay—we wouldn’t want them to be late for dinner.”

With a fierce battle cry Duncan led the valiant charge.

The six Highlanders who rode at breakneck pace, swords held high, into the heart of Huntly’s left vanguard should have died that day.

Instead, they became legend.

Jeannie woke with a start. The first golden rays of dawn broke through the dirty pane of glass in the small window and tumbled across the floor. But the sun could not warm the cold emptiness that gripped her heart.

She knew without even looking: Duncan was gone.

She’d failed.

Dread took hold of her and did not lessen its virulent grip the entire journey back to Freuchie Castle. Indeed, it was only made worse when barely an hour into the journey they heard the terrifying sound of loud explosions behind them. Explosions unlike anything she’d ever heard before, but knew to be cannon. Even from a distance she could feel the air reverberate with each deafening boom.

As much as she wanted to know what was happening on the battlefield, she also knew that Duncan was right—it was no place for her. Thus, she hastened back home to do all that she could—wait and pray and hope that he came for her as promised. Her guardsmen did not hesitate at the sudden “change” of plans to return to Freuchie, nor did she need to feign the illness, which was her explanation. Her fear for Duncan saw to that.

It was the longest day of her life. She tossed her needlework to the side and hastened to the tower window once more as she’d done all day—back and forth, unable to sit still. God, she hated waiting. Hated the feeling of utter helplessness. Her life was being played out on a battlefield and all she could do was stand by and wait. What was happening? Who would emerge victorious? Would he still come for her? And the most torturous question of all: Would he live to come at all?

He couldn’t be dead. Surely she would know it?

Then, just before nightfall, Jeannie saw the white standard of the Chief of Grant crest the hill from the east. And riding not far behind, her father.

She said a prayer of thanks for his safe return and raced down the tower stairs, through the great hall, and down the forestairs into the
barmkin
below, her heart pounding like a drum. The victorious expressions on her clansmen’s faces as they rode under the iron yett answered her first question: The Campbells had lost.

Now, all she could do was wait and hope that if Duncan lived—and she could not bear to contemplate anything else—he did not blame her for her father’s treachery.

The triumph over the death-defying rescue of the Mackintoshes was short-lived. Duncan fought alongside the MacLean until the bitter end, but eventually they were overwhelmed and forced to retreat. No matter how bravely or fiercely they battled, Huntly’s cavalry and his cannon proved insurmountable. Had the Campbells not lost half their vanguard in the first hours of the battle, they would have had a chance. As it was, they could claim a small victory to have lasted as long as they did. Though he supposed his cousin would not see it as such.

Argyll’s flag would fly over Strathbogie Castle this night as he’d promised, but in defeat not in victory. Though it had taken three spears to bring him down, Robert Fraser, Argyll’s standard bearer, had fallen to the enemy.

The last whisper of daylight had just faded when Duncan rode through the gates of Drumin Castle, numb and exhausted from the day’s events.

They were waiting for him in the laird’s solar. The chiefs and chieftains who’d made up the War Council last night appeared changed men—somber, pride in tatters, an air of stunned disbelief permeated the painfully quiet room. These were men not used to losing. And though none would ever give voice to their thoughts, ever present was the knowledge that what many had warned against had come true. But no one could have anticipated Grant’s treachery.

Perhaps they should have. Perhaps
he
should have.

Duncan took one look at his cousin and could see that time had not dulled his rage. He was in a dangerous
temper. Mouth pulled back in a snarl, eyes narrow and hard, with his sharp, Gallic features he looked like a half-crazed wolf, ready to take a bite out of the first person to look at him the wrong way.

But appeasing his cousin’s wounded pride was not what Duncan was thinking about right now. “Our father?” he asked Colin, relieved to see his brother had followed his orders and returned to the castle.

Colin’s face was pale and streaked with dirt and blood, his eyes unfocused. He appeared in shock by the events of the day. Duncan couldn’t blame him.

“He lives,” Colin replied. His relief, however, was tempered by his brother’s next words. “But he has not woken since we left the battlefield.”

“Where is he? I must go to him.”

“In the laird’s bed chamber,” Argyll said. “But I will have your report first.”

Duncan recounted the events after his cousin had left the field, emphasizing the courage and fortitude of the MacLeans and their chief.

“Where is MacLean? Why is he not here to tell of this himself?” Archie demanded.

“He took a pike in the arm and is having it tended.”

“Our losses?”

Duncan met his gaze. “At least five hundred men.” He didn’t need to mention the thousands of untrained rabble who had deserted at the first cannonade.

“And Huntly?”

“Far fewer.” Duncan would guess no more than a score—he and his men had been responsible for half of them.

Archie’s gaze hardened, his eyes shone black as onyx. “They knew our positions. They knew our battle plan.”

A murmuring of agreement went around the table. Campbell of Cawdor spoke up. “Aye, they may as well have had a map, so well did they anticipate our movements.
’Twas probably Grant’s doing.” He shrugged. “He must have sent a man after our meeting last night.”

The mention of Grant seemed to unhinge his cousin. His face flushed crimson. “The filthy, lying viper.” He banged his fist on the table. “He will pay for his treachery.” He motioned to one of the guardsmen who stood by the door. “You there. Go, find out who was seen leaving the castle last night.”

Duncan swore silently, hoping that no one had taken note of his departure. He’d rather not have to explain his meeting with Jeannie. Especially now.

“If that is all, cousin, I should like to go and see my father.”

“Go,” Argyll said, waving him away. He was almost to the door, when he stopped him. “Wait. Before you go, leave the map.”

Duncan opened his sporran, pulled out the parchment and handed it to his cousin. He turned to leave again, when Argyll said, “What’s this? A note?”

Damn.
In his haste to see his father he must have accidentally handed Archie Jeannie’s note.

He held his expression impassive and opened his sporran again, this time looking as he rifled through the contents. He frowned. Where was it?

“Is there a problem?” Argyll asked, the barest hint of uncertainty creeping into this voice.

“I can’t seem to find it. I must have lost it during the battle.”

If the room was quiet before, it was dead silent now. He didn’t need to look around to know that all eyes were fixed on him. He felt a burst of anger, knowing that there were many in this room who would be suspicious of him simply for his blood alone. But Archie would never doubt his loyalty. Duncan’s actions on the battlefield spoke for themselves. He would dare any man in this room to say otherwise.

He held his hand out for the return of the missive, but his cousin hesitated. He was tempted to snatch it back, but doing so would only make it look as if he had something to hide.

“Who is it from? It appears to be a woman’s hand.”

Duncan gritted his teeth and squared his jaw. “ ’Tis a private matter.”

Only when his cousin unfolded it and started to read, did he recall the wording:
Come quickly … we must act immediately.
Wording that might provoke question in even the staunchest of hearts.

His cousin looked up at him with a strange look on his face. “When did this arrive?”

Duncan did not shirk from the truth. “Last night.”

“After the council?”

“Aye.”

“I warned you to let nothing interfere with your duty to me. Perhaps you should have been focusing on the father rather than the daughter. Convincing Grant to join us was your responsibility.”

Duncan heard Colin’s sharp intake of breath when he understood the implication of Argyll’s words. Damn. He hadn’t wanted Colin to find out like this.

Shock registered on his brother’s features. “Jean Grant? You were with my betrothed last night?” he asked, accusation ringing in his voice.

“You are not betrothed. It is complicated, I will explain everything, I swear, but later.” He looked back to Argyll. “My relationship with Grant’s daughter has nothing to do with this.” His cousin’s criticism, however, was not as easily dismissed. “Perhaps I should have anticipated treachery, but I am not the only one in this room who Grant fooled.” His father, Argyll, all of them had believed Grant’s anger against Huntly to be real. “If you have something you wish to accuse me of, cousin,
do it. Otherwise I shall go to see my father.”
Who took a bullet intended for you.
But he left that unsaid.

He waited and when his cousin said nothing, turned and left the room. Archie hadn’t accused him of anything, but neither had he defended him. With all that Duncan had been through today, the realization that his cousin could even remotely harbor suspicion toward him stung.

Could Argyll really think him capable of betrayal? Nay, it was only his frustration and anger talking. When his cousin calmed down, he would see the truth. Archie never apologized, but Duncan knew he would find a way to make amends.

For the next two days, Duncan kept a steady vigil at his father’s bedside, leaving only to wash the stains of battle from his weary body and make occasional use of the garderobe.

His father lay still and bloodless in the enormous bed, seeming to wither before his eyes. The bleeding had stopped, but he’d yet to regain consciousness. The healer warned that it was likely he never would. But Duncan wouldn’t leave his side in the oft chance that he did.

Jamie and Elizabeth had been sent for, but had yet to arrive. Argyll and Colin were frequent visitors, but never stayed long and spoke little. In Duncan’s absence, it seemed, Argyll had turned to Colin to attend him as they awaited King James’s arrival. The king was enraged, both by Argyll’s precipitous attack and by Huntly’s treason. Now he was on his way north with thousands of men, intending to bring Huntly to heel.

No mention was made of what had been said—or left unsaid—after the battle. But with MacLean’s return, rumors of Duncan’s valiant rescue of the Mackintoshes had spread, casting doubt on the suspicion toward him.

Or so he thought. Late in the afternoon of the third
day, Colin burst into the chamber. “You have to leave,” he said, gasping for breath.

“Calm down, Colin. What’s wrong?”

“They found it.”

Duncan frowned. “Found what?”

“The gold.”

He laughed. “Well if they found gold, you can be sure it isn’t mine.”

“How can you make light of this? Don’t you see that they think you are guilty? You were angry after the council at not being given a command and with father for refusing your marriage. They think you conspired with Grant.”

Duncan wasn’t laughing any longer. “Who thinks this? Not Archie?”

Colin shook his head. “Nay, he defended you, but even he could say nothing when they found the bag of gold. Forty gold ducats are hard to explain.”

Duncan felt the first prickle of true alarm. ’Twas a small fortune. But it was not his. “There must be some mistake.”

“There is no mistake. They searched our tent and found it in the bag you attach to your saddle.”

Someone had put it there. Someone who wanted him to look guilty. Grant?

“Anyone could have put it there. Let them bring these spurious charges to my face.”

“With the king on his way the chiefs are out for blood. You will be arrested. You must go.”

Arrested?
“I won’t run. I’ll stay and prove my innocence.”

“Where, from prison?”

His jaw squared. “I’ll not leave father.”

“He would not want you to stay, not like this.”

From the courtyard below, Duncan heard the unmistakable clatter of soldiers.

“Go,” Colin said. “I will stay with father until you return. I swear it.”

He didn’t want to go, but Colin was right. He could do nothing to prove his innocence from prison. And without his father, who would fight for him? Archie would be having a time of it himself, defending himself before the king.

He clasped his brother around the shoulders. “Thanks for the warning, little brother. I’ve yet to have the chance to explain about Jeannie. I’m sorry if you were hurt, it was not intended.”

Colin brushed off the apology. “We were both fooled.”

Duncan gazed at him quizzically.

“You haven’t heard?” He shook his head. “Jeannie Grant is betrothed to Huntly’s son, Francis Gordon.”

Duncan froze, every muscle rigid with shock. It wasn’t possible.

Was it?

For the first time a shadow of doubt crept into the back of his mind and he allowed himself to consider what he’d been staving off thinking about for days. Why hadn’t she told him? And what had happened to the map? He’d had it with him the whole time, removing it only to sleep. He recalled his sporran neatly arranged with his belongings.