The Campbell Trilogy (122 page)

Whoever it was, what mattered was that his return was no longer a secret. He was now the hunted. Wherever he went, he would need to be very careful. In the alehouse Conall also had heard that rumors of the Black Highlander’s return were spreading across the countryside. Once word reached Aboyne, it wouldn’t take the Marchioness long to figure out his identity. Though the way she watched him, he wondered if she already had. He couldn’t risk staying around to find out.

They would leave tomorrow.

Originally, he’d planned to go to Freuchie Castle, but now it would be too dangerous. With rumors spreading of his return, he knew the Grant’s stronghold would be one of the first places they looked. They would guess Duncan was looking for a way to clear his name. Only Lizzie knew of his connection to Jeannie, but with the Marchioness he couldn’t risk staying any longer.

Over the years Lizzie had begged him to go to Jamie and it looked like he had no other choice. But he sure as hell wished he had something more to give his younger brother than his word.

He’d searched the laird’s solar the night before he’d fallen ill and found nothing. But the very fact that he’d come across no personal correspondence at all had bothered him. When Jeannie had brought him in here the other day, his eye had caught on an oddity in the wood paneling of the walls near the fireplace—a gap in the carving, almost undetectable. The back of his neck had prickled, wondering if the rumors of a secret chamber were true. Before becoming part of the Gordons’ holdings, Aboyne Castle had once been in the possession of the Knights Templar and rumors of a secret “monk’s room” had circulated for years.

Carefully, he opened the door and slid into the solar. With no windows the inner-chamber was pitch-black except for the soft orange glowing embers of the fire. It took him a moment to find a candlestick, but with a few puffs of air he managed to light it.

Even with the candle, however, he needed time for the flame to gather strength and his eyes to adjust. When he could see well enough to get around, he headed straight for the incongruity in the wood paneling he’d noticed near the fireplace. His fingers slid over the place where the two pine planks abutted, feeling not only a distinct gap but that one side was raised slightly. He followed the gap around the top and knew it was a hidden panel—in this case a door. There had to be a way to pop it open. Perhaps the fireplace?

He tried pressing the rosettes, the vines, the shells—any part of the relief. Then he methodically started searching for any moving part … nothing. He was about to take out his dirk and pry the damned thing open, when he decided to reach around inside the fireplace itself and struck gold. He pulled a small wooden lever and heard the distinct pop.

A small door—about four feet high by three feet wide—opened. Holding the candle into the dark space,
he could just make out the stone walls of a narrow passageway. From the dank smell and the layers of cobwebs and dust, it looked like it hadn’t been used in some time. Fortunately, however, it was tall enough for him to stand in.

After ducking through the door, he allowed his eyes to adjust for a moment before he carefully stepped forward. He was glad he did, as the floor suddenly became stairs. He realized he must be in a hollow section of the outer wall of the castle. The stairs seemed to go down forever. When he reached the bottom, he realized he was below ground because he was no longer seeing stone under foot, but dirt. The ceiling was also much lower and he was forced to duck as he walked through a tunneled passageway for about ten feet. Suddenly the tunnel gave way to a small chamber—if the old alter table in the center of the room was any indication, he’d found the monk’s room.

But if the layer of dust on the table and handful of chairs scattered about the room was any indication, it hadn’t been used as such in a very long time. Taking advantage of the two candelabrums that still held candles, he significantly improved the lighting.

Not wasting any time, he started looking in any place that might hold documents. He noticed a drawer in the alter table, and opened it to see it stuffed with papers. His pulse sped up, certain that he was about to find something important. He removed piece after piece of parchment, reading as fast as he could, quickly discarding the more recent documents to get to those from ten years ago. There were correspondence between Francis Gordon and nearly every laird in the Highlands, but nothing to do with him or Glenlivet. A short while later Duncan found himself staring at the wood plank of the bottom of the drawer.

He couldn’t believe it. He’d been so certain. Maybe
Jeannie was right. Maybe her husband had nothing to do with what happened to him.

As he replaced the papers where he’d found them and closed the drawer, he felt the distinct prickle of guilt. Should I have trusted her?

His instincts rarely failed him. His gaze scanned the room and landed on a trunk, tucked into a small alcove in the wall. Lifting the top, he found himself staring at a thick stack of parchment.

Every nerve ending stood on edge. This was it. He removed the papers and began to read.

Near the bottom he found the missing map, creased where it had been folded in ninths. Parts of the wax still remained where it had been sealed closed, and scribbled on the back in one of the boxes created by the folds was a note:

This came to me unexpectedly. Consider it a betrothal gift.

Grant.

His mind raced, trying to sort out what this meant.
Betrothal gift.
Had Jeannie known about this all along? He’d thought he’d been wrong, that she hadn’t betrayed him. He’d wanted to trust her.

A few pages later he found a short correspondence, again from Grant to Francis Gordon, dated three days after the battle, the same day gold had been found in his belongings. It discussed the king’s approach and near the end words that sent a chill down his spine:
The rumors you alluded to at our last meeting should give you no cause for concern. I have dealt with the matter and you can be assured that nothing will stand in the way of this betrothal.
He was “the matter.”

Duncan’s insides twisted. Vindication was cold comfort.

He felt the subtle shift in air at the same time as a beam of flickering light spilled over his shoulder.

“What are you doing in here?”

He stiffened at the sound of her voice. He’d been so engrossed in what he’d found that he hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps. Holding the map in his hand, he slowly turned to face her. Jeannie stood in at the edge of the tunnel, a candlestick in her hand.

Long red curls, blazing fiery gold in the candlelight, tumbled freely around her face and shoulders down the front of her thick velvet dressing gown. God, she was beautiful. So beautiful it hurt to look at her. He hated the doubt that consumed him.

“What are you doing?” she repeated. Her eyes shifted behind him, seeing the papers, and her face filled with horror. “My God, you’re spying on me.”

Jeannie gazed at him in stunned silence. To think she’d been unable to sleep because she’d been warring with herself about what to do. He’d saved her daughter’s life and quite possibly her own. With all he’d done she couldn’t stand aside and allow him to hang. But Dougall’s future hung in the balance. She’d wanted to find a way to help him and protect her son at the same time.

Now here he was spying on her. He’d found the room. How could she be such a fool to allow herself to think that he’d changed? That he’d trusted her? Betrayal curdled in her stomach.

Her accusation hung in the cold night air. He didn’t deny it. Instead he held out a couple of papers in his hand, his eyes once again cold and unyielding. “How do you explain these?”

Not knowing what to expect, her fingers shook as she took the wrinkled parchment in her hand.

Her heart thumped when she realized one of the documents
was the map he’d been accused of selling to her father. She flipped it around, read the note, and then the letter.

Saying nothing, she handed it back to him. A cold chill swept across her skin. Dear God, what had her father done? She’d wanted to think he hadn’t been involved, that the map had merely fallen into his hands. Had Francis been involved, too? Even posing the question felt disloyal. “This proves nothing.”

His eyes flared dangerously. “It proves your husband was involved.”

“What it proves is that my father sent the map to my husband. We already knew my father sent it to the Gordons. It changes nothing. Francis had nothing to do with framing you for treason.” Did she say it for her benefit or for his? And if Francis had been behind it, did it really change anything? He’d still protected her and her son.

Duncan’s eyes scanned her face. “What has he done to deserve such loyalty?”

She heard the raw emotion in his voice and had to turn away, lest she be tempted to tell him. Instead she turned his accusation back at him. “Why are you so quick to implicate Francis? My father even says the map came to him unexpectedly.”

“And how did it come to him?”

Her chest pinched. His question shouldn’t hurt so much. “I did not give it to him, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then who did?”

“Was there no one else with opportunity?”

“I removed my sporran twice. Once with you and once when I returned to my tent.”

“And you slept alone?”

He gave her a long look. “My father, brother, and a
few of my father’s closest clansmen slept in the tent as well.”

“Yet you immediately assumed it was me?”

“Given your father’s actions that day, you were the most logical. But I did consider other possibilities.”

“And?”

He didn’t say anything.

“And I am still the most logical?”

He waited for a long moment. “I don’t want to think so.”

Her gaze met his. He was looking at her as if he wanted to believe her. “What do you think in here?” she asked, pointing to her chest.

He flexed his jaw. “I don’t.”

Because he thought his heart had led him astray.

When she didn’t say anything, he asked, “And what of the letter? Do you still deny your father was involved with what happened to me?”

Her gaze dropped to the floor. “He could have meant anything.” It rang false even to her own ears. Her father had been involved. She knew it as well as he did.

He held her gaze for a moment longer, as if waiting for her to reconsider. To make a different choice. To choose him.

God, how she wanted to. Standing this close to him, alone, feeling his strength surround her, she ached to touch him, to take refuge in the force of the connection between them. Every instinct urged to throw herself in his arms, rest her cheek against his shoulder, breathe in the warm, spicy scent of him, and forget her troubles.

He would kiss her.

The memory of his mouth on hers was almost enough to throw caution to the wind. She knew how it would feel. How he would taste. How pleasure would crash over her like a wave, drowning out everything but sensation. Her troubles would fade away like the mist upon
the dawn. For a moment. But, like the mist, when darkness came they would return.

She had to think with her head and not with her heart. The fact that he was here spying on her, accusing her, told her that she had been right not to trust him with her secret.

She would not deny that there was something between them. That in the past few weeks she’d felt twinges of her former feelings for him. That she’d found many new things to admire in the man he’d become. That when he’d kissed her she’d felt more passion, more emotion, than she’d felt in ten years. That even now, she feared he would pull her into his arms and she would be lost.

But though the old feelings were still there, so was the distrust. As much as her instincts urged her to throw caution to the wind, experience had taught her control. Duncan deserved to clear his name, she wanted him to, but she had to protect her son.

With what he’d found, Jeannie knew it was going to be harder and harder to do. She felt as if she were living in a house of cards and one by one Duncan was plucking them from under her.

He would never understand why she was doing this. To him, it would seem another betrayal. That she was siding with her father and husband against him even when she suspected their complicity in his downfall. She knew what she was sacrificing. But the thought of her son suffering for her mistakes …

If Duncan proved her husband complicit, at best her family would expect recrimination from Argyll. At worst, the king could refuse to grant her son sasine in his property. And if Duncan discovered the truth about Dougall’s birth …

The scandal, the repercussions could be horrible. She remembered how it had been when her mother had left.
The stares, the whispering, the suddenly quiet rooms when she entered. Being rendered a bastard would be much worse. She couldn’t do that to her son.

Her decision must have shown on her face. She could feel Duncan pull away from her. Feel the tenuous connection that they’d established snap. His face shuttered. He took a step back and placed the map and letter in his sporran. “I’ll be leaving at daylight.” His voice was flat, emotionless.

Jeannie flinched.
Leaving. Again.
Pain wrapped around her like a vise. It shouldn’t hurt so much. She’d known it was coming. She’d made her choice, she’d have to live with the consequences. “I see.” She gazed up at him, her heart squeezing like a fist. “Where will you go?”

“To my brother. Jamie is Argyll’s closest advisor.”

She drew back in shock. He must be mad. Argyll’s enforcer was the most ruthless pursuer of outlaws in the Highlands. “He will toss you in the nearest dungeon and have a rope around your neck before you can blink.”

His eyes darkened. “He is also my brother and right now my best option. My only option. It is not without risk, but it’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

She wanted to argue. But he was right—where else could he turn? He’d come to her and she’d turned him away. But to go to Jamie Campbell … right into the heart of the dragon? A dark ball of fear lodged in her chest like a rock—hard and unyielding. Why did the idea of him putting himself in that kind of danger make her stomach churn? Make it feel like the bottom of her heart had just dropped out? “If it is mercy you seek, you will not find it with the enforcer.”