The Campbell Trilogy (135 page)

The maid shook her head. “They’re still sleeping off my mother’s ale before the fire. Except for the leader—the tall black-haired man.” She gave Jeannie an uneasy look. “He left a short while ago.”

Left? Jeannie swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you know where he went?”

“To the docks, I think. He was heading off in that direction.”

Jeannie nodded and tried to stay calm. He was probably just readying the boat to leave. He wouldn’t leave without her. The girl set the food down on the side table and offered to bring some fresh water for the basin, which Jeannie declined.

“I can help you with your gown,” the girl suggested, seeing that Jeannie was wearing only her linen sark.

Though Jeannie was in no mood for company, she knew she could not get dressed on her own and accepted the girl’s help rather than wait for Duncan. It might be some time before he decided to come for her.

“You had business at the castle, my lady?” the girl asked conversationally, lacing Jeannie’s stays.

Jeannie nodded. “I’d hoped to see the old nurse, Kathrine.”

The young maid looked at her in surprise. “Katy?”

“Yes, I was sorry to hear of her passing.”

She nodded. “Aye, it was a horrible tragedy.” She lowered her voice. “Poor Katy must have slipped on the cliffs while walking home. She washed ashore a week after she went missing. The only way they could identify her was by her hair. Like spun gold it was, twisted with the kelp.”

Jeannie grimaced, not needing the gory details. But wait—she frowned—gold? “I understood her to have black hair.” Like her son.

Maid shook her head. “Nay, mistress. Katy’s hair was as bright as the sun. ’Twas her pride and joy, those curls.”

Jeannie felt a prickle of excitement and tried to tamp it down. Hair “like a raven’s wing,” Lady MacDonald had said. Perhaps Jeannie had misunderstood. But she hadn’t. Maybe the old woman had been confused. That must be it.

But she hadn’t seemed confused.

The niggle at the back of her neck that something was wrong wouldn’t leave her. Had Lady MacDonald lied to them?

All her instincts—

She stopped.
Instincts.
That alone should prevent her from going any further. She already felt foolish for insisting on dragging Duncan on this journey in the first place.

It was probably nothing, an innocent mistake.

But what if it wasn’t?

She couldn’t let it go. If there was a chance that Lady MacDonald knew something she had to take it. But Duncan was eager to leave. And the way he felt about her right now, she wasn’t sure he’d be willing to listen to anything she said. She turned to the maid who was watching her with an expectant look on her face. “Could you arrange for someone to take me to the castle?”

“Aye, my brother Davy could take you, but don’t you want to wait until your guardsman returns?”

“Actually, I’d rather he not know that I’ve gone.” At least before he could order her not to go. This way, if she was wrong, he need not ever know. “If he comes to look for me …” She thought quickly for an explanation. Seeing the small fan she’d used to help revive Lady MacDonald peeking out of her purse, she shoved it down and tied the bag around her waist. “Tell him that I forgot my fan yesterday at the castle and have gone to retrieve it. I will return as soon as I can.”

The maid bobbed. “Aye, my lady. I’ll go find Davy right now.”

“Before you do, if I could trouble you for one more thing?”

The girl nodded.

“Might I borrow a plaid?”

The maid hardly blinked—Jeannie suspected she was not the first person to sneak out of this inn. “Of course.”

A short while later, Jeannie tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the main room where she knew the men were and passing into the kitchen instead. The maid led her out the back door, past a well and small garden to the stables.

Her brother—Davy—was a few years older than his sister and as thin as the girl was round. He stood waiting for her with a sturdy Highland pony. Knowing that Duncan would have a guardsman stationed outside, Jeannie adjusted the borrowed plaid over her head like a hood and kept her face down. Though her “disguise” wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny, she hoped the guard would take a quick glance and think her a woman from the village.

It must have worked because no one stopped them. They made quick work of the three mile or so journey, arriving at the castle just as the cock had begun to crow.

Once inside the courtyard, they tethered the ponies near the stables and Jeannie went to beg her second audience with Lady MacDonald, praying that this time it proved more fruitful.

Colin Campbell had waited until dark before landing in a small inlet just north of Leodamas, using the night to shroud his arrival on Islay. If reports of his brother’s battle skills held true, which he did not doubt—Duncan had always been annoyingly accomplished at everything—he would need the benefit of surprise to capture him. Just to be sure, however, another
birlinn
waited outside the bay to cut off any attempt at escape.

Colin knew Duncan was here. As soon as his men had seen the boat leave Castleswene and head down the sound, Colin guessed where his brother was heading.

The spy he had in Dunyvaig amongst the MacDonalds’ guardsmen confirmed it. They were on Islay—at an inn at the village. They’d left the castle yesterday after a short meeting with Mary MacDonald.

The fact that Duncan was here meant he was too close. Though Colin was certain he’d taken care of everything, there was always a possibility he’d missed something. He’d hoped this wouldn’t be necessary, but he couldn’t take the chance.

But Colin wasn’t without filial sentiment, the thought of what he had to do held no enjoyment for him. He’d always looked up to Duncan—had wanted to be just like him—which he supposed had always been the problem. He was destined to fall short.

It’s either him or me
, he reminded himself. On some level he’d always known that.

That damn map.
He’d just wanted to make Duncan look foolish, instead it was he who’d been fooled. Grant had used him. Used his jealousy against his brother. And Colin had trusted him, thinking himself engaged to Grant’s daughter. The devil’s spawn Grant had betrayed them both, and Colin had been forced to hide the gold to cover up his part in the debacle.

The note had been the last straw. Colin had recognized the feminine lettering and known that it was from her.
My
betrothed. Duncan knew they were engaged, but he’d gone to meet her anyway. He’d fucked his bride, damn him. Like he was probably fucking her now. Anger dulled any sympathy he might have felt for his brother. Duncan deserved exactly what he got.

Unlike their father. He’d never wanted his father to be hurt, but with what he’d threatened after Colin admitted to knowing about Duncan’s feelings for Jean Grant before proposing the betrothal, perhaps it was better that he did.
I should have made Duncan my heir.
Colin had been outraged. Humiliated. But he hadn’t believed
he would actually do it—not until his deathbed ramblings sent any icy chill down his spine.

Colin buckled the scabbard at his waist and tucked the two brass-handled pistols into his belt as his men finished clearing the camp on the small forested hill above the village where they’d slept. It was about an hour before dawn—the perfect time to catch them unaware. He knew Duncan had only a handful of men with him, but he did not underestimate his brother. Duncan did, however, have a weakness. Colin just had to get his hands on her.

Why couldn’t Duncan have stayed away? The moment Colin had heard his brother was back on Scottish soil he’d known what he would be forced to do. He hoped Duncan gave him a reason. He didn’t want to have to shoot his brother in the back.

Duncan walked the short distance to the inn from the beach, trying to shake the water from his hair. But the frozen clumps snapped against his cheeks, releasing little—if any—of the icy sea water. Overnight the mist had settled low around the island in a damp, bone-chilling fog that the dawn had yet to thaw. But cold had never bothered him. He’d been raised in the Highlands near the sea; he was used to it. Though admittedly, not all Highlanders swam in the sea in the middle of winter. Perhaps he had more Norse blood in him than he realized.

The village was quiet, but showing the first signs of life as he approached. Gentle swirls of smoke billowed out of the rooftops as the servants lit the morning fires.

It had been a long night. When he’d left Jeannie he’d joined his men in the public room below. He’d been wound tight, looking for a way to unleash the dangerous emotions swirling inside him. It was either fight or
drink, and as he did not trust himself not to kill someone, he chose the latter.

Gauging his dark mood, Conall and Leif gave him a wide berth. A handful of tankards of the innkeeper’s best
cuirm
, however, had barely taken the edge off his anger or the gnawing burning in his chest.

He’d spent a few restless hours before the fire, before giving up on sleep and deciding to try to clear his thoughts in the sea. But the clarity he’d hoped to find in the icy waters had eluded him.

I have a son.
It was still difficult to comprehend. But what the hell was he going to do about it? Make him a bastard? He better than anyone knew what that was like. He’d come to terms with his birth, but it hadn’t been easy. Could he foist that kind of black mark on his son?

Why hadn’t she told him earlier?
Because she didn’t trust you.
Why should she?
You left her.

He shook off the annoying voice. He didn’t want to see her side, his anger was still too damn raw.

He turned the corner around the empty market stalls and the inn came into view. As always, he scanned his surroundings. Something was wrong: The Gordon guardsman he’d left was not in position.

Senses honed, he realized it was too quiet. Too still.

He looked down at the muddy ground and saw the unmistakable signs of footprints coming from all directions around the building. A score of men—at least. He suspected there were others positioned in and around the building, hidden in the backdrop of trees. Too many for the handful of men he had with him, particularly since Leif had left early this morning to scout the castle. He took a few steps back out of view, but they’d already seen him. His skin prickled with the sensation of being watched.

It was a trap. One in which he would not be caught.

Then he remembered. He swore, dread settling low in his belly. Jeannie. He’d left her alone, and in doing so had given them the perfect weapon. His muscles flared and fists clenched. If they hurt her, touched her in any way, they would not see another sunrise. He didn’t care if there was an entire army in there.

His eyes darted to the second floor window, not seeing any movement. He tried not to let it alarm him, but she had to have heard the noise below when the men rushed in. If she wasn’t in her room, it meant she was—

A muffled woman’s scream tore through the morning air, turning his blood to ice.

Without hesitation he ran.

About twenty feet from the door, the loud shot of musket fire pierced the quiet morning air.

Colin couldn’t believe it. It had been almost too easy—well, except for the big Irishman. His men had taken the inn with nary a shot fired, a dirk had taken care of the sole guardsman outside, and the other men had been virtually helpless while they slept, only to discover that neither his brother nor Lady Jean Gordon were here. His fury was nearly uncontrollable, buoyed by fear that they’d found something.

The wounded Irishman and the four Gordon guardsmen had been bound and gathered in a group on the floor. The innkeeper, his wife, and his young daughter had also been brought to him. “Where are they?” he demanded of the big man.

Blood was gushing from the Irishman’s nose and cheek where his face had been smashed by the butt of a musket, but he smiled and asked, “Who?”

Colin barely contained his irritation. Only his desire to catch his brother prevented him from ordering the man killed instantly. “The outlaw Duncan Dubh.”

The burly red-haired man shrugged. “I don’t know any outlaws.”

Colin put the barrel of his pistol right under the man’s chin. “Are you sure about that?”

The big man didn’t flinch. “Aye.”

He could see it in his ruddy face—this man would never betray his leader. Colin was about to pull the trigger when out of the corner of his eye he noticed the young maid open her mouth.

His gaze narrowed on her. “Do you have something to say? Do you know where the outlaw and the woman are?”

The girl looked scared enough to crap herself. “I …”

“Bring her to me.”

She screamed when his men grabbed her. “They’re n-not h-here,” she said, her words barely intelligible behind the frightened sobs. “We didn’t know he was an outlaw. We don’t want no trouble. I saw the black-haired man leave a while ago, heading toward the harbor. I heard them arguing last night and I was concerned about the lady so I went to check on her. She left not long after he did—”

Her words were cut off by the sound of a gunshot.

Colin supposed it was too much to hope that someone else might have done his job for him.

Jeannie’s heart raced to near bursting as she urged the pony faster. The wind ripped through her hair and pounded against her cheeks. Tears streamed from her eyes, but she hardly noticed. All she could think of was getting back to the village. She couldn’t wait to find Duncan and tell him what she’d discovered.

Refusing to back down, she’d confronted the old woman with what she’d learned. A few pointed questions was all it had taken and like a dam that had been
waiting to break, the whole sordid story had come pouring out.

Davy shouted something that sounded like “be careful” just before she caught sight of a man plunging out from the trees on the right side of the path, cutting her off. She was forced to rein in her mount to avoid colliding with him or veering off the path into the trees and bracken.

It all happened so fast it took her a moment to realize it was Duncan’s man Leif. In the best of circumstances the Norseman made her uneasy, but with the glacial look on his face right now he made her blood run as cold as his ice-blue eyes. He was an incredibly attractive man, if you could get past the fearsome expression, which she’d yet to do. Hard, emotionless, scary: that about summed him up.