The Campbell Trilogy (48 page)

More land. How humiliating. Despite her cousin’s claim, Lizzie knew that her help following the death of the countess wasn’t the real reason for the gift. Archie obviously thought he needed to sweeten the pot to get someone to marry her. No doubt he was only trying to help, but her tocher was already one of the richest in the land; wasn’t that enough?

Her shoulders sagged. Apparently not.

Part of this was her own fault.
Summer,
she’d promised. Could it be June already? When her cousin had broached the subject of another betrothal all those months ago during the Yule celebration, the days were still short and the snow blanketing the moors of Inveraray Castle still comfortably deep. Summer had seemed so far away. There had seemed plenty of time to find a suitable man on her own. Plenty of time in which to fall in love.

After the travesty of her last betrothal, she’d vowed to marry only for love—what she thought she’d found with John. But it had been a foolish girl’s vow. A vow made when her emotions were still raw and tender from his cruelty.

Now, two years later, Lizzie had to be practical. At six and twenty, love probably wasn’t for her.

Probably.

She sighed at her own foolishness. Even with reality staring her in the face, she could not completely shed the possibility from her mind. But it was well past time to give up that particular fantasy. She didn’t want to live her life alone. Taking care of her cousin’s and brother’s households would not be enough forever, and as much as she loved little Archie and the girls, the children were not hers. She wanted a home and family of her own—enough to accept a new betrothal brokered by her cousin.

She felt a twinge of regret, thinking of her friends’ happiness, then quickly pushed it aside. Her two closest friends, Meg Mackinnon and Flora MacLeod, had both been fortunate
enough to find love with their husbands. Ironically, Meg had married Flora’s brother Alex. Meg had two young sons, and Flora had recently given birth to twins. Lizzie was happy for them, but it made her deeply aware of all that she was missing.

But as much as she wanted what her friends had found, she had to accept that she could not wait any longer for something that might never happen.

It doesn’t matter,
she told herself, determined as always to make the best of every situation.
I will make my own happiness. Arranged marriage or not.

“Is something wrong, mistress?”

Lost in thought, Lizzie hadn’t realized that Alys had been watching her again. She lifted a brow. “I thought you were embroidering?”

This time Alys would not be put off. Curiosity, it seemed, had finally overridden discretion. “You keep staring at that letter as if it’s an execution warrant.”

A wry smile curved Lizzie’s mouth. “Nothing as dramatic as that, I’m afraid.” The earl would be angry, but not with her.

“Are you worried about the travel with all those horrid MacGregors scurrying about the countryside?” Alys leaned across and patted her knee. “There’s nothing to worry about. My Donnan will see that we come to no harm.”

Alys’s husband was captain of the earl’s guardsmen at Castle Campbell, and she was fiercely proud of the formidable warrior.

“No, it’s not the travel,” Lizzie assured her. They were well protected by a dozen guardsmen, and not even the outlawed MacGregors would dare attack the Earl of Argyll’s carriage. Besides, they were still in the Lowlands, well away from the Lomond Hills, where the proscribed clan was reputed to have fled following the battle of Glenfruin.

Even as news of the atrocities committed by the MacGregors
at Glenfruin spread through the Highlands, it was hard for Lizzie to reconcile the man who’d come to her aid with the band of ruthless outlaws who’d perpetrated a massacre on the field of Glenfruin. In this, however, she was alone in her family. Her cousin had been charged by King James to bring the MacGregors to justice for their crimes and for the past few years had made it his mission. A mission in which her brothers Jamie and Colin had joined. It was only a matter of time before the outlaws were all hunted down.

What would happen to her warrior? Knowing the answer, she tried not to think about it.

Lizzie met the other woman’s gaze, seeing the concern brimming in her warm brown eyes. She sighed, knowing that Alys was truly worried about her.

She would have handed her the note, but Alys, a Highlander to the core, did not read Scots, only a smattering of the Highland tongue. Lizzie read the words aloud as the coach bumped along a particularly rocky patch of road, her voice reverberating with each jolt.

When she was finished, Alys frowned. “Why would you be upset about getting more land?”

“Don’t you see? The land is only the bait. My cousin intends to find me another husband.”

Alys snorted. “ ’Tis about time, if you ask me.”

Having suspected that this would be the older woman’s reaction, Lizzie had hoped to avoid the subject altogether. A wry smile turned her mouth. “Your sympathy is overwhelming.”

“Bah,” said the other woman with disgust. “ ’Tis not sympathy you need but a husband and bairns. You’re a beautiful lass with a loving heart, and you’ve locked yourself away because of some arse …”

Lizzie gave her a sharp look.

“Because of some overstuffed peacock,” Alys continued.
“I don’t know what that man did to you, but he wasn’t worth a halfpenny of the tears you spent on him.”

Lizzie knew it was useless to try to make her loyal maidservant understand. By no stretch of the word could Lizzie possibly be considered beautiful, but try explaining that to anyone in her family and they looked at her as if she were addled.

Her family just didn’t see her the way other people did. To them she was a prize. A woman any man would be proud to have by his side.

They loved her too much to view her stammering as anything other than a minor inconvenience. Usually, they were right. Lizzie stammered only in large groups or when she was nervous or anxious, and now almost not at all. She supposed there was one reason to be grateful to John. The past two years, she’d devoted endless hours to speaking softly and slowly in the effort to further control her stammer, determined never to allow herself to be made the butt of anyone’s mockery again.

“Perhaps not,” Lizzie agreed, anxious to avoid the subject.

“Then what is it? Are you worried that your cousin will betroth you to a man you cannot abide? The earl loves you too much to ever see you unhappy.”

“He would never do that,” Lizzie agreed. She was lucky. Not only did she have the love of her family, but they also respected her in a way that was hardly typical of the position of most women in today’s world. She’d been educated by tutors alongside her brothers before they went to Tounis College, and was as knowledgeable about Highland politics as any man.

Indeed, it wasn’t her cousin’s choices in husbands that had proved the problem. John Montgomery had actually been her choice. The two men her cousin had picked for her would have been infinitely better choices, but circumstances beyond her control had forced them apart.

Her first betrothal, to James Grant, had been arranged when she was a child, but it had been broken by Duncan’s treason.

Duncan. The brother she’d idolized, lost to her almost ten years ago. God, how she missed him. Despite the proof against him, Lizzie had never believed him guilty of the betrayal that had cost the Campbells the battle of Glenlivet and ultimately their father his life. She hoped one day to see him return to prove it. She’d begged him to do so many times in the occasional letter she managed to smuggle to him. Their communication was the one secret she kept from her family. But she was enormously proud of the name he’d made for himself on the continent after having it erroneously blackened at home.

Lizzie had also welcomed her second betrothal. She’d known Rory MacLeod since she was a child, and would have been hard-pressed not to have been at least a little besotted with the handsome chief. Unfortunately for her, he’d been ordered by the king to handfast with Isabel MacDonald and had fallen in love with his beautiful bride.

“Then why are you so upset?” Alys asked. “Do you not wish to be married?” She sounded as if the very idea were unfathomable.

“Of course I do. It’s just that I want …” Lizzie stumbled over the words, embarrassed. It sounded silly, particularly after her disappointment with John. Women in her position married for duty, not for love. Feeling the telltale rush of anxiety that precipitated a stammer, she took a deep breath, counted silently to five, and then forced herself to speak slowly and softly. “I want what you have.”

Alys’s eyes widened with understanding. It had probably never occurred to her—or to any of Lizzie’s family, for that matter—that she would wish for something so fanciful and not be content simply to do what was expected of her, as she always did. She would do her duty, of course, but that
didn’t mean she could completely quiet the whispers in her heart.

The maidservant studied Lizzie’s face for a long moment before answering. “Aye, I want that for you, too, lass. But you’ve nothing to worry about. The earl will find you a good husband, and once he gets to know you, the man won’t be able to stop himself from loving you.”

Alys said it with such conviction, Lizzie realized that arguing was futile. It sounded so much like something her mother would have said that tears blurred her eyes, and she had to turn away. Not a day went past that she didn’t miss her mother. Her death only months before that of Lizzie’s father had been a cruel blow that Lizzie felt every day.

She gazed out the window to distract herself from the memories, the countryside rolling by in a vivid panoply of green. The heavy spring rain had reaped its munificent bounty, turning the glens thick with grass and the trees dense with leaves.

The light dimmed as the hours passed and they moved deeper into the forest, sending shadows dancing across the walls. The carriage slowed, and an eerie quiet descended around them. It felt as though they were being swallowed up. Like a sponge, the canopy of trees took hold, soaking up the noise and light. Unconsciously, Lizzie’s fingers circled the hilt of the small dirk she wore strapped to her side, as she silently thanked her brothers for insisting that she learn how to use it.

The coach jerked hard to the side, knocking Lizzie from her seat once again. But this time the carriage did not right itself, and they came to a sudden stop.

Something didn’t feel right. It was too quiet. Like the still before the storm.

Her pulse quickened. Tiny bumps prickled along her skin, and the temperature seemed to drop as the chill cut to her bones.

They’d come to rest at an angle so that both women had
settled on the right side of the carriage opposite the door. It took a bit of maneuvering to get themselves up.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Alys asked, giving her a hand. Lizzie could tell from her quick, high-pitched tone that the maidservant was nervous as well. “A wheel must be stuck—”

A primal cry tore through the shrouded trees, sending an icy chill straight down Lizzie’s spine. Her eyes shot to Alys’s in shared understanding. Dear God, they were under attack.

She could hear the voices of her cousin’s guardsmen outside, shouting orders back and forth, and then the name clear as day: “MacGregors!”

Lizzie couldn’t believe it.
The outlaws must be mad to risk …

Her blood went cold.

Or so desperate, they have nothing to lose.

Fear started to build along the back of her neck. A whispery breath at first, then an icy hand with a tenacious grip. She fought to catch the frantic race of her pulse, but it kept speeding ahead.

A shot fired. Then another.

“Donnan!” Alys cried, lurching for the door handle.

“Don’t!” Lizzie stopped her, the maidservant’s rash act finally wrenching her from her shock. “He’ll be fine,” she said more gently, knowing she had to calm the other woman’s rising panic. “If you go outside, you will only distract him. We need to stay inside where they can protect us.”

Alys nodded, fear for her husband rendering her temporarily mute.

Lizzie’s heart went out to her; she was unable to imagine how difficult it must be to sit and do nothing while outside the man you loved was in danger. “It will be all right,” she said as much to calm Alys as herself.
If only Jamie were here.
Argyll’s guardsmen were well trained, but the MacGregors
were reputed for their battle skills. Even her cousin had hired the proscribed warriors at times, before relations between the clans had splintered. But no one could defeat her brother. He was the most feared warrior in the Highlands.

The two women put their faces to the small window, trying to see what was happening, but the smoke from the musket shots was thick, and the fighting seemed to be in front of the carriage, beyond their field of vision.

The noise was deafening, but the most horrible part was imagining, trying to match the sounds with what might be happening. Unfortunately, there was no mistaking the sound of death. It surrounded them like a tomb in their small carriage, closing over them until the air was thick and difficult to breathe.

Alys began to weep softly. Lizzie took her hands and, unable to find words, hummed a song to soothe her. The music worked its magic, and the older woman began to relax.

“Oh, my lady. Even in the midst of hell, you’ve the voice of an angel,” Alys said, tears glistening in her eyes. The fine lines around her eyes etched deeper.

Lizzie managed a small smile, having always found it ironic herself that the girl with the stammer had been gifted with song. While she was singing, her voice had always been miraculously free of fumbling.

She put her arm around Alys and they huddled together, listening and praying.

Lizzie had never been so terrified. It felt as if every nerve ending, every fiber of her being, were honed to a razor’s edge on what was happening. Everything felt as if it were moving too quickly: her mind, her pulse, her breathing. But strangely, at this moment of extreme danger, she’d never felt more alive.