by Tracy Brogan
She thought for a moment to tell him they were of the most brutal sort, for it was John who had given her over to them with no concern for her well-being.
“It is too late for such a question, don’t you think? Any damage would already be done.”
His cheeks flushed with heat. “I know. I have carried that burden with me since the day you left. Though I’m sure you do not believe me, I’ve worried for you every moment. So, answer. Are they wicked or kind?”
He looked earnest, more so than she had seen him look in years, and her spite cooled.
“They are kind, John. More gracious than you could imagine. They have welcomed me as one of their own.”
A whisper of relief passed over his features. “And what manner of man is the earl himself?”
Fiona hesitated, wondering how much she might impart. Not so long ago she had despised Cedric for cruel deeds he did not commit. But John knew nothing of his innocence.
She reached out and took her brother’s hand. “He is not the monster we thought, John. In fact, I have great cause to think he was not responsible for what happened to our mother.”
John pulled his hand from hers, and his eyes narrowed. “What makes you say so?”
He would not believe her. He’d spent a lifetime, like her, thinking the worst of Cedric Campbell.
She must choose her words with caution. “It seems he and our mother were friends, even after James claimed his throne. They...corresponded.”
“Did the earl tell you that?”
“No. He’ll not speak to me of her. But I’ve seen her letters.”
His eyes opened wider at this admission. “What letters?”
Fiona pressed her hands together. Such news would be a shock, but telling him was her best course.
“Though it would seem impossible, I believe our mother cared for him. And he for her. The letters spoke of love.”
John remained unmoving in his seat, his face devoid of surprise or judgment. As if he’d known. Fiona looked into his eyes and saw relief.
“He told me something similar on the day of your wedding. At first, I thought he wove a tale for some purpose of his own, but over these past weeks, I’ve grown to wonder at the truth of his words. And things that mother herself told me before she died. Things that made no sense at the time.”
“What things?”
“She said I wasn’t like the rest of you. That I was different, meant for something grand.”
A restlessness overcame Fiona. “I am not certain he is ready for whatever may come to pass,” she whispered.
“What?” he asked.
“Mother wrote that in her last letter to Cedric. Have you any idea what she meant?”
John ran his hands over his close-cropped hair and stewed a moment, as if his thoughts were too muddled to formulate. Then his breath came out in a huff.
“She meant that Cedric Campbell is my father.”
His lips stung at the words, but John felt such relief at finally setting the truth free. He was Cedric Campbell’s son. When the earl had told him as much on the day of the wedding, disbelief had governed him. But the more he pondered the matter, the more sense it made. Snippets of advice his mother had whispered in his ear, his height, so much greater than any other Sinclair. Even the way Hugh Sinclair had treated him after Aislinn was murdered.
He watched astonishment splash across his sister’s face. She fell back against the chair as if pushed, and pressed both hands to her chest.
“Cedric is your father?” She spoke slowly and precisely, as if she had not heard correctly.
He nodded. “He told me so himself, and though I was as shocked to learn of this as you are now, I can see no just cause why the earl would invent such a lie. It does him no good.” He stood and paced, unable to keep his seat a moment longer. Time was slipping away, and he had so much more to say. “I think our fath—I think Hugh may have known. About me, even.”
Her eyes went rounder still. “What makes you think so?”
“Do you remember, days after mother died, Hugh beat me so soundly my ear bled?”
Fiona nodded mutely.
“He struck me for daring to suggest ’twas not Cedric who harmed her. Mother had confessed their friendship to me, you see, though I had no idea how long it had gone on or to what depth.” He paced about as he spoke, trying to evade the bitter memories. “But when I said as much to Hugh, he called me a wicked liar and said if I ever breathed such falsehoods again, he’d drown me in the loch.” Passion gave his voice a thickness. He coughed it away and faced his sister. “He knew it wasn’t Cedric. He was just looking for a reason to kill him. And now I suspect mother was preparing to tell me about my paternity. Cedric gave her the brooch to pass to me.”
“Why?” His sister’s voice was faint, her cheeks flushed.
“He said he’d claim me as his own and that the brooch would grant me safe passage through any Campbell land if I chose to join him. He didn’t realize I’d never gotten it, nor that mother had never had a chance to tell me any of this, until you jabbed him with it on your wedding day. He thought I knew and had made my choice to remain a Sinclair.”
He sighed and sank down in the chair. Unburdening this tale had not made him lighter after all. Instead, it made him bone-wrenchingly weary. And only half his work was done.
“I saw no pennants flying at the castle when I rode into the village. Does that mean the earl is not in residence?”
Fiona gazed at him as if her eyes were blurred. “Cedric is with my husband and the king at Linlithgow.”
Disappointment sank like a stone inside his heart. He must meet with the Campbells before the next leg of his journey. The letter signed by all the Highland chiefs was sewn securely in the lining of his doublet, yet burned against his back like a branding iron. He was anxious to be rid of it, even though it would seal his fate, along with Simon’s.
“When will they return?”
“Not for a week or more.”
His sister rose from her chair and pressed a hand against her belly, pacing. He wished he had the luxury of letting this revelation take hold. But time was running out.
“Fiona, there is more.”
Her face went pale, and she sank down in the chair once more. “How could there be more than this? Please, John. Please do not tell me Hugh Sinclair did something awful.”
He had long wrestled with that same fear, but shook his head. “I honestly do not know, Fiona.”
“But surely you have some idea who the culprit was, don’t you?”
John frowned. How could he make her understand that justice for their mother might never be met, and in this moment, with what was certain to come next, it hardly mattered?
“Fiona, listen to me. We are running out of time. There is a plan afoot which I must tell the earl about at once. And something you must know as well.”
Her hands fell limp against her lap. “What more?”
“The truce was never meant to hold. Your marriage was a ruse.”
“A ruse?”
The garish colors of the tent walls blurred. She saw John’s face and heard his words like one underwater. His hands clasped hers, too warm and tight. They felt like shackles heated in a forge. She shook them free.
“What do you mean, a ruse?”
“A decoy planned by Simon, meant only to buy us time so we might ally with the other Highland clans. The Sinclairs have united with the Sutherlands, the Mackays, the Gunns, and more. When James sails north and lands at Gairloch, an army thousands strong will be there to slice him into bits. They mean to kill the king.”
Those harsh words cut through the fog of her distress. She stood once more. “Kill the king?” Distress surged through her veins. “You traded my future to be used as nothing more than a...a distraction?” Her hands fell limp to her sides. “Did you know that was Simon’s plan?”
There was shame in his expression. Yes, he’d known and was sorry for it, but she had no use for his remorse. He and Simon had g
ambled, with her body as the prize. ’Twas unforgivable. The Campbells could have been the worst sort of fiends, and still her brothers would have tossed her into that pit to suffer on her own.
John stood and grasped her by the shoulders. “Be angry with me, if you must, but there are more lives at stake here than our own. I can stop this, Fiona. If you tell me you are devoted to the Campbells, I will side with you and confess this plot to them. If warned, the king’s forces can almost certainly fend off this attack.”
She broke free of his grasp. “Why should they trust you now? Why should I?”
“Because I am your brother. I know I failed in that before, but I am trying to protect you now.” He paused, as if weighing his words, and blew a shallow breath between his lips. “Fiona, I have a document signed by all the Highland chiefs. Proof of their treason. I’ll turn it over to your husband, and he can do with it what he will.”
Fear and agitation scorched her skin. She stepped away from him. “How have you come by such a document?”
“I am the messenger, tasked with delivering it to Archibald Douglas. The clans believe he will assist them in murdering the king.”
Her stomach fell like a boulder off a cliff. “Is Simon’s name on it?”
John nodded.
“You fools! The king would see you burn for having any part of this.”
Regret twisted his expression. “I cannot undo what we did to you, Fiona. That die is cast. And I would see Simon’s way clear of this if I could, but the plan of the Highland chiefs is doomed to fail and only suffering will come from it. Perhaps if I am the bearer of this news, the king will see fit to offer clemency. If not, then better Simon and I be sacrificed than all of Scotland put to war.”
Fiona pressed her fingers to her temples, but nothing could stop the clamoring inside her head. This was too much. Simon had followed his father’s path of vengeance, like any loyal son. Now it seemed John was similarly swayed by this knowledge of his Campbell bloodline.
She could not resist the question. “If Cedric had never told you he was your father, would you be taking that letter to Archibald Douglas instead of bringing it here?”
He held her gaze, and she saw the sadness in his eyes.
“Do not ask.”
“It could have meant a dire end for me, you know. It may still. For both of us.” Her breath hitched at the thought of Myles turning away from her.
John came quickly to her side. “You had no part in this. I will swear to that upon my life.”
She thought of all her childish behavior on the journey here from Sinclair Hall and Myles’s enduring patience. It seemed she must put him to the test once more, with a flaw of such magnitude his love might not withstand it. How proud she had been to be a Sinclair. Now she felt only shame.
“You say they will be a week or more?” John interrupted her thoughts.
She nodded.
He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “I cannot wait that long. I must reach the king before he sets sail.”
“You think to simply ride up to the gates of the palace and demand an audience? He will not see you.”
“I have no other choice.”
“I can get him in,” said a feminine voice.
Both Fiona and her brother jumped and turned toward the sound. The tent flap slid to the side and in stepped Vivienne.
“You’re right,” she added. “Tent walls offer little privacy.”
CHAPTER 38
“FIONA, I CANNOT sit idle waiting for your husband and the earl to return. I must leave at once for Linlithgow.”
Her brother paced around his tiny room at the inn where he’d taken lodging. She and Vivienne had joined him there after leaving the gypsy’s tent.
“But it’s possible we could miss them in the crossing. There is more than one route between Linlithgow and here.” Vivienne sat upon the bed in a garnet-colored dress, the deep, rich hue a contrast to the dim shades of the chamber.
“We?” John’s brows rose. “There is no we, my lady. I make this journey alone.”
Vivienne rose elegantly from the bed. “Nonsense. You cannot gain entrance without me. You need me.”
John’s jaw clenched. “Your offer is most gracious, but I can think of few things I need less on this journey than a woman. You’ll only slow me down and cause me worry.”
Vivienne smiled, and Fiona knew she would not be dissuaded.
“I can travel by horse just as a man would,” Vivienne said. “You’ll waste more time loitering by the palace gate if the king will not see you. And if you make a fuss, the guards will clap you in irons and tote you to the stocks, but I can get you inside the walls in an instant.”
John’s eyes narrowed. “The stocks will be the least of my problems if I arrive too late to stop the king from setting sail. Truly, my lady, I appreciate your offer, but I must go forth on this quest without your assistance.”
The three of them had been arguing for nearly an hour, talking round each other and stewing over what to do, of how they might prevent this battle and still save Simon from the noose. John’s mistrust of Vivienne was palpable. And logical, considering she’d damned herself by admitting to eavesdropping on their conversation in the tent.
“Vivienne is right, John,” Fiona said. “It does no good to rush if you cannot get in, but perhaps I should go with you and beg an audience. The king was most gracious to me during his visit.”
Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Fiona, forgive me, but you are naive. The king may very well think you were a part of this plot all along. I, however, will testify I heard your brother reveal his tale to you.” A smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “And certainly, I’d be more adept than either of you at finding my way into the king’s chamber.”
Vivienne had little shame and few morals, advantageous traits for one undergoing such an excursion.
Fiona smiled in spite of her unease and looked to her brother. “She is right again. I see no point in beleaguering this issue further, John. We must go with you.”
“I do not like it. This is my cross to bear, not yours,” John said. “And I would not have the king and the earl think I hide behind the skirts of women.”
Fiona’s smiled broadened. “The king once hid behind a woman’s skirt himself, only he was wearing it at the time. We might remind him of that, if necessary.”
Against all of John’s arguments, they set out the next morning with ten Campbell men-at-arms, each one chosen by Vivienne for his valor and discretion.
John eyed each one with caution. “She seems highly unpredictable,” he whispered to Fiona, staring at Vivienne from the back of his horse.
Fiona adjusted the reins of her gray mare and followed his gaze. “Do not underestimate her. She is amazingly resourceful. We are lucky to have her on our side.”
“But is she on our side? Are you certain?”
“She is a loyal Campbell, John, but now so are we, remember? So, yes, I am certain. Unless you have some other purpose which you have not confessed?”
The idea sent a chill through her, but her brother’s expression gave her ease.
“You know everything. No more secrets. I cannot bear the weight of them. I only wish I could see clear some way to keep Simon from this mess.”
Fiona nodded and dashed away a tear. Their brother was boastful and impetuous, and never one to give her ease. Yet she’d not betray him or sacrifice him if there were any other way to serve their cause.
They rode hard for six days, sleeping only a few hours each night. Fiona managed well enough, pushing through exhaustion and the occasional nausea in her eagerness to see her husband. The child seemed to tolerate the journey as well, and she was grateful for that. Yet always present in her thoughts was her concern that the message they carried would make Myles turn away from her. If he thought she’d known of this all along, what might his reaction be? Still, it was a risk she must take. The future of the country rested on the success or failure of this endeavor.
At last, they r
eached Linlithgow. The palace sat in a hollow on the edge of an indigo loch surrounded by fruit trees. Though the sunshine bode of good tidings, fear pressed tight against Fiona’s chest. She prayed, as she had each day of their travels, they’d be welcomed by the king and commended for their haste. Most of all, she prayed John’s new loyalty would be rewarded with mercy for both him and Simon.
They rode through the cobbled streets of the village, past spice shops and vintners, milliners and silversmiths, until they reached the palace gates. As expected, guards halted their progression.
“Leave this to me,” Vivienne murmured to Fiona and John before nudging her horse forward. “Greetings, I am Lady Vivienne Ramsey. This is Lady Fiona Campbell and her brother. We bid an audience with the king at once, on a matter of the utmost importance.”
One guard stepped forward, patently unimpressed. “The king is seeing no callers today, my lady. Please return again another time.”
Her horse pranced sideways, as if annoyed by their dismissal. “The king will want to see us. We possess information most imperative to his future travels. Please send a messenger to him at once and tell him we are here.”
He looked away from her. “No callers today, my lady, by the king’s command.”
Vivienne looked down her nose. “Tell him we are here. That is by my command.”
Fiona squirmed in her saddle. How imperious Vivienne sounded! Still, the guard hardly blinked, and Fiona began to fear their failure.
“I obey the king, my lady. Be on your way.”
“What is your name, boy?”
The guard’s chin lifted. “Seamus Mackenzie, my lady.”
She leaned low over her horse’s neck so that her face was very near his. “Well, Seamus Mackenzie, I hope you crave infamy, for your name will be synonymous with a blunder of the greatest magnitude if you do not let us pass.”
Fiona exchanged a wary glance with her brother. Vivienne had warned John not to make a fuss, but this had all the makings of one. Still, when John opened his mouth to speak, Fiona gave a discreet shake of her head.
The guard’s lips pressed thin. He turned his head to glare at her a moment, then gestured to another guard. “Show these three into the courtyard, then take their message to the king’s chamberlain. He can decide what to do. Your men must remain outside the gate.” He spoke this last bit to Vivienne and tilted his solid chin in the direction of the Campbell men-at-arms.
