The Campbell Trilogy (18 page)

Her emotions were in turmoil with all he’d told her, but two things rang true: He had carried her from the burning
building—she remembered the feeling of safety and security when he’d held her in his arms—and her father had harbored the MacGregors.

She’d known her father was sympathetic to their plight—as many in the Highlands were—but Caitrina still couldn’t believe that he’d taken such a risk in sheltering the outlaws. Though she supposed, given the honorable and proud Highland chief that her father was, he would have felt compelled to shelter the MacGregors no matter what the risk. What really stung was that she’d known nothing about it. She had been kept in the dark. Ignorance had left her unprepared for heartbreak; she vowed never to be like that again.

In hindsight, she realized there had been warning signs, particularly with respect to Jamie Campbell. It was clear that her father had urged her to accept Jamie’s suit knowing that they might be in need of his protection.

Guilt twisted inside her. Would things have been different had she heeded his request? Would Jamie have protected them?

Caitrina didn’t know what to think, but one thing was certain: She needed to shore up her defenses against Jamie to withstand further attack. She might have gotten rid of him this time, but she knew he’d be back.

She needed to put herself out of his reach forever—which meant speeding up her search for a husband. Today, after the midday meal, she would speak with her uncle.

Her eyes flew open in alarm.

Midday meal.
She glanced out the window at the sun on the horizon and muttered a curse.

She was late.

It took her only a few minutes to change her kirtle, splash some water on her face, and tug a comb through her hair before she was on her way back down the stairs. She exited the keep and hurried across the courtyard to the separate building that housed the new hall and kitchens. The
great hall with its specially constructed fireplace had been hastily built over forty years ago, when Queen Mary had visited Toward Castle. To this day, the arched gateway between the chapel and guardhouse was called “Queen Mary’s Gate.”

She could hear the boisterous sounds of revelry as she drew near and felt a pang of guilt. With all that her uncle and aunt had done for her, Caitrina knew she should make a better effort to repay their kindness. Forcing a smile to her lips, she took a deep breath and walked into the great hall.

For a moment, the sounds of merrymaking and the pipes, the warm smell of peat, and the vivid panoply of color from the colorfully dressed clansmen filled her with a painful longing. It was so reminiscent of Ascog, she had to pause to collect herself.

Her eyes scanned the room, sliding over the sea of unfamiliar faces. Except for the dais, where her uncle sat with her aunt, cousins, and …

She stiffened with shock.

Only Jamie Campbell would be bold enough to enter the enemy’s lair after what had happened at Ascog. She should have expected something like this. He’d certainly wasted no time.

But what she didn’t understand was why her uncle would receive him. The Lamonts of Toward hated Campbells as much as their Ascog kin—if not more so. The fact that her uncle would sit at the same table with Argyll’s Henchman after all that had happened made her prickle with alarm.

Something did not bode well.

Jamie read her shock when she entered the hall and noticed him sitting at the dais beside her aunt.

He stilled, seeing her hesitate at the entry as she decided
whether to come in or turn around. Had she changed more than he’d realized?

Only a few seconds elapsed before she straightened her spine and started purposefully across the hall—not sparing him another glance. Jamie relaxed his hand, not realizing he’d been gripping his goblet so hard. No, she was still the passionate girl who would not back down from a challenge. But as she drew closer, he could see the wariness in her eyes—wariness that pricked.

He took a long drink of
cuirm,
knowing that she was right to be worried.

There was an empty space on the bench beside him; he wasn’t surprised, however, when she took a seat at the opposite end of the long wooden table—as far from him as was possible.

He was left to converse with her aunt Margaret on his right and her cousin John, Lamont’s
tanaiste,
on his right. Both were aware of his purpose in coming to Toward. Though Margaret Lamont did her duty as hostess without fault, he detected disapproval in her manner. Her son was less subtle. John, a hulking, battle-scarred warrior of perhaps thirty years, didn’t bother to hide his hostility, speaking in grunts and monosyllables and looking as if he’d like nothing more than to slip a dirk between Jamie’s ribs.

It wasn’t the first time Jamie had experienced stilted and awkward conversation over a meal. Though perhaps he was more anxious by what was to come than he wanted to allow, because it seemed to drag interminably.

Finally, the Lamont of Toward rose. It was time. “Niece”—he turned to Caitrina—“would you join us in the laird’s solar.”

Caitrina glanced in Jamie’s direction, as if she might refuse. He kept his expression implacable. She stood, following her uncle’s lead, her smile dutiful, albeit forced. “Of course, Uncle.”

Jamie, Caitrina, Margaret Lamont, and John followed
the chief into the small antechamber off the great hall. Under normal circumstances, the Lamont’s
luchd-taighe
guardsmen would join them as well, but Jamie had requested privacy, knowing that Caitrina was going to feel cornered as it was.

It will be for the best.
He didn’t shy from doing what it took to achieve his purposes, but that didn’t prevent the twinge of disquiet.

The room was small and dark, large enough to hold a table and benches and not much else. A woven rug of blues and greens was strewn across the wood floor. The paneled walls were unadorned with paint or plaster—or windows. Indeed, except for a few sconces, the only decoration was a large silk banner embroidered with the badge of Lamont hung on the wall opposite the door. A simply constructed bookcase held what looked to be mostly the household account books. The simplicity of the room was odd in comparison with the richly appointed great hall that adjoined it, but this room seemed to fit the Lamont.

Tall and sparse, with a ruddy complexion and a shock of reddish grayed hair that managed always to look windblown, the Lamont of Toward was a quiet man of few words. In temperament, Jamie had always thought him more suited for the kirk than the battlefield. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the dangerous John Lamont—unlike the Lamont’s warmonger son.

Jamie took the proffered seat beside the chief and noticed how John and Margaret Lamont had taken the seats on each side of Caitrina, as if trying to protect her. It wouldn’t do any good.

“Undoubtedly, you are wondering why I’ve asked you here,” the Lamont chief said to Caitrina.

“Actually, I’m wondering what he is doing here,” Caitrina replied. Her gaze fixed on Jamie. “I thought I made myself very clear earlier. I have nothing more to say to you.”

“I think you’ll remember my response as well,” Jamie said evenly, noting the burst of angry color that appeared on her cheeks. “Listen to what your uncle has to say, lass,” he finished quietly.

The Lamont cleared his throat. Jamie could tell he was uncomfortable. Hell, he didn’t blame him. “Campbell here and I have been in correspondence for the past couple of months.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath and a look of such betrayal in her eyes that it cut him to the quick.

Her aunt quickly clasped Caitrina’s hand and eyed her husband impatiently. “You misunderstand, dearest, your uncle did not betray you.”

The Lamont’s eyes widened in alarm, realizing what she’d thought. “Your aunt is right. I told Campbell nothing of your whereabouts. He contacted me about another matter.”

Caitrina seemed to relax, but only a little, and she waited for her uncle to continue. But the Lamont still seemed to be having trouble finding the right words.

Taking pity on the man, Jamie interjected for him. “Your uncle has served as something of an intermediary.” He could see her confusion and explained. “While searching the forest near Ascog after the attack”—
for you,
he left unsaid—“I captured two of Alasdair MacGregor’s guardsmen—one of whom happened to be his cousin Iain.”

Her eyes widened a little. “And so my father’s death was for nothing,” she said bitterly. “You found the MacGregors and turned them over to Argyll anyway, or maybe there was no need to turn them over?”

Jamie’s mouth tightened. Killing them was what he should have done—and no more than Iain MacGregor deserved. That he hadn’t done exactly that was only because of her. If they were to have any chance, he knew that no more death could come from the attack on Ascog. His jaw clenched grimly. Iain MacGregor was one of the worst of
the lot—a murderous scourge who’d burned and pillaged Jamie’s clansmen for years. What others might have been driven to, he did for pleasure.

Alasdair MacGregor, on the other hand, had made a different impression on him. Though they’d crossed paths a number of times in the past few years, during the negotiations Jamie came to see him as a man bound by duty into becoming the unlikely leader of an uncontrollable group of brigands—as their chief, Alasdair would be held accountable. Jamie had come away almost feeling sorry for him.

Unexpectedly, the Lamont rose to his defense. “No, he didn’t do either, Caitrina. As a matter of fact, Campbell has prevented Argyll from sending more soldiers into the area until an agreement for a peaceable surrender of Alasdair MacGregor could be worked out. As evidence of Campbell’s good faith, while brokering the deal, he has kept the location of the prisoners a secret.”

Caitrina’s gaze fell on him. He saw her surprise. She realized the significance of what Jamie had done by withholding information from Argyll. Hell, it had surprised him. Never before had Jamie refused to follow an order from his chief. Proof alone of what she meant to him. Initially, his cousin had been furious. Only when Jamie had explained his purpose had Argyll been mollified.

He knew she wanted to ask why he’d done so, but instead she turned back to her uncle. “And has a peaceable surrender been negotiated?”

The Lamont nodded. “MacGregor and his men have agreed to turn themselves in to Argyll, and in return the earl has agreed to indemnify him for past crimes and to see him safely on English ground. Alasdair MacGregor believes that he will be treated fairly by King James in England.” Undoubtedly, Alasdair MacGregor would die for his clan’s crimes, but at least his blood would be on King James’s hands.

She nodded but kept her gaze on her uncle. “It is more
than I would have expected from Argyll. But I don’t understand what this has to do with me?”

The Lamont cleared his throat again. “To seal the bargain, Campbell has asked for your hand in marriage.”

Her entire body went rigid. Jamie could see her knuckles turn white as she gripped the folds of her skirts in her lap. Fury and outrage radiated from her, but she kept her voice surprisingly calm. “I’m afraid I’ve already refused the laird’s
generous
offer of marriage. In fact, I planned to discuss another match with you tonight.”

Blood rushed through Jamie’s veins, his reaction instantaneous. “Who?” His fists clenched.
I’ll kill him.

Her lips pressed together. “It is none of your concern.”

The Lamont appeared flustered. “This changes everything. I was not aware that your father had arranged another match. I thought you had refused every offer. Who is it, child?”

Color crawled up her cheeks. “Nothing has been decided … exactly.”

The Lamont gazed back and forth between the two of them, sensing the tension and probably guessing the cause for it. “You should hear his offer before you refuse him, niece.”

“There is nothing he can say that will change my mind.”

Don’t be so sure of that.

“I think you will want to hear everything, Caitrina,” her aunt said quietly, echoing his thoughts.

He sensed her rising panic. She turned to her cousin John, but he nodded as well—although he looked none too happy about it.

“Very well. What is this offer, then?” she asked impatiently.

Jamie saw the pity in her uncle’s eyes when he answered her. “If you wed Campbell, you can return to Ascog Castle with your remaining clansmen under his protection.”

She flinched as if from a blow, and Jamie knew he’d
guessed correctly. With the death of her family, her home and her clan were what were important to her. But how much would she be willing to sacrifice for them?

She’d lost her composure; he could see her hands shaking in her lap. “I see. So he offers that which rightly belongs to the Lamonts.”

No one spoke, but they all knew that Argyll had laid claim to her father’s lands. To encourage the capture of the MacGregors, the Privy Council had enacted laws giving a bounty for the head of any MacGregor, in addition to all the dead man’s possessions. By harboring the outlaws, arguably the Lamont himself was an outlaw. As such, his possessions would be forfeit. With no male survivors, Caitrina would face a long, uphill battle, with little guarantee of success in the end.

“My cousin has agreed to give the land to me on our wedding.” An arrangement that had taken some negotiating and hadn’t pleased Colin, who felt it should be his. “Eventually, it will go to our second son.”

At the mention of a child, she blanched. He could see the panic in her eyes and knew that she was close to losing her composure.

“Leave us,” he said to the others.

The Lamont frowned. “I’ll not have you force the lass.”

Jamie checked him with a glare but forgave him for the insult, knowing that the chief spoke out of concern for his niece.

“Caitrina?” Margaret Lamont asked.

She nodded.

The chief escorted his wife, with John following, but when her cousin reached the door, he turned. “You don’t have to wed him, lass. I’d not see you tied to a bloody Campbell.” His eyes narrowed menacingly on Jamie. “Say the word and he’ll feel the edge of my blade.”