Beloved Impostor

by Patricia Potter

  “Even at the risk of committing treason?”

  The silence was broken only by a knock on the door. Rory strode over to it and took a tray laden with fruit, cheese, bread, and a roasted chicken. It smelled far better than anything that had come from the kitchen since he’d arrived. There were also two goblets.

  He ignored the frown on the face of the clansman delivering it.

  He took the tray to the table, poured wine into both goblets, and handed one over to the Campbell. Perhaps spirits would loosen his tongue.

  But this time Campbell did not take it. Neither did he touch the food.

  “What do you want?” Campbell asked abruptly.

  “Just as you claim not to have been involved in raids on our villages, I personally was not involved in Lady Felicia coming here. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Personally?”

  “My kinsmen became a little too enthusiastic in finding a bride for me.”

  Light suddenly dawned in the Campbell’s eyes, and he started to rise. “Janet?”

  Rory had told James Campbell at the croft that he had thought Felicia was Janet Cameron, but he had not explained how she had come to Inverleith.

  “Aye, they thought she was too good for a Campbell.”

  Campbell swore softly, too softly for Rory to cipher. He did hear the word cur.

  “Far better a Campbell than a Maclean,” James Campbell said in a more audible voice. “Their wives have a way of dying early.”

  It was a direct hit.

  “At least they do not need to flee from their families.”

  Another hit.

  “Be sure that you will be held responsible,” Campbell said, ignoring the jab.

  “Ah, you want to make me responsible for what my kinsmen do, when you refuse to take any for your clan raiding my people.”

  A muscle throbbed in the Campbell’s throat, but he said nothing.

  “I knew nothing about the interception until they appeared at my gates,” Rory continued. “And then the lady was strangely reluctant to return when I volunteered to return her to the Cameron family. I had been gone ten years and had never seen her. She allowed me to believe she was Janet Cameron. And I could certainly understand her reluctance to avoid her marriage to the Campbell heir.”

  Campbell started up off the chair, then sat back down. He struggled to remain emotionless, but Rory could see the anger teeming inside him.

  “And now we both seem to have a problem.” Rory left the words hanging in the room as he took a sip of wine.

  “Continue,” Campbell said in a steady voice laced with steel.

  “You do not want Felicia to marry Morneith. I feel responsible for her current predicament. If not for me, she might well have reached you. She might have had a chance then, but now too many people know a woman thought to be Lady Janet is here. Obviously she could not be in two places at one time. It will not take long before everyone knows the woman is really Felicia Campbell.”

  Campbell looked hopeful. “I can still take her away. To France.”

  Rory shook his head. “If she simply disappeared now, the Macleans would be blamed, possibly for murder, mayhap for treason. I cannot allow that to happen.”

  Campbell stared at him. “You have something in mind, or you would not be talking to me.”

  “I have a question first. Why has there not been an outcry about Lady Felicia’s disappearance?”

  Campbell hesitated again. It was obvious that he was reluctant to say anything, to give any information to an enemy.

  Rory played his trump card. “I can always turn her over to the crown.”

  “Fear,” Campbell said after a moment’s pause. “The steward, William, knew that he would be held responsible. He was hoping to find her before my father discovered she was missing. They have been searching everywhere.”

  Including, Rory knew, Maclean villages they destroyed, but now was not the time for more accusations. “How long before he reports her disappearance?”

  “An escort was due either today or tomorrow to take her to Edinburgh for the betrothal ceremony.”

  “What will your father do when he discovers she’s not there?”

  Campbell shook his head. “He does not like to be disobeyed. Neither does the king.”

  “What would he do if he learned Morneith was a traitor?”

  Campbell’s gaze speared him. “You have proof?”

  “I know Morneith. More than that, I trade in Paris. I hear much. The French have numerous spies in the English court. Morneith is a traitor as well as a lecher.”

  Campbell sat straighter in his chair. “That is not proof.”

  “Nay, it is not. And I doubt that French spies are willing to risk their necks, and more, to help convict the man. But there may be a way to trap him.”

  Now Campbell did take a gulp of wine.

  Rory sat in the chair opposite him, his gaze meeting the Campbell’s directly. He wanted to see everything in that face. He had to decide whether the man was up to a dangerous game, whether he could be trusted. If not, he would be sent back to the dungeon until Rory could develop another plan. He could not risk the Campbell’s escape.

  “He is said to have killed his last wife,” Campbell said.

  “He most likely did. He likes boys. Young ones.”

  The Campbell leaned over the table, his hands clenching. “You know this?”

  “That is the rumor. I always pay attention when the French discuss the English, and the Scots.”

  “She’s a Campbell. Why do you care?”

  “Unlike you, she did not ride onto Maclean land of her own free will. I would have little compunction about holding you hostage, but I do not make war on women. Even Campbell women.” He kept his voice emotionless. He knew that she would never be just a Campbell woman. She had seized a part of his heart, and he had not realized it until he’d thought he would lose her.

  But he had lost her, or lost what he thought she was.

  Even if they found a way to destroy Morneith, her uncle would never permit a marriage to a Maclean, and he could never forget the terrible heritage of his family.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” Campbell finally said.

  Rory shrugged. “You do not. Just as I do not know I can trust you.”

  Campbell said nothing. He took a piece of fruit and ate it, then tore off a chicken breast. “It is better than my earlier meal.”

  “I told them to feed you. I did not specify what.”

  “Moldy bread and water.”

  “I believe they were reluctant to give you even that much.”

  “They indicated as much.” His gaze met Rory’s. “You propose a trap then? When did you come up with this, ah, scheme?”

  “On the ride back from the croft. I had to learn a few things first.”

  “About me?”

  “Aye.”

  “And have you?”

  “I have not discarded the idea. Yet.”

  “I have not agreed.”

  But he had. Rory saw it in his face. And, despite what he had said, so had he made up his mind.

  It was not so much out of choice as it was of necessity.

  They ate the rest of the meal in silence, both weighing each other. Rory knew he was being judged as he was judging the other man. Neither obviously had certainty.

  They both knew they were risking treason. They both knew they were doing it because of the same woman.

  “Does Felicia know what you are planning?” Campbell asked after they had finished.

  “Nay. And I do not think she should. I do not want to give her hope that could be dashed.”

  James Campbell raised an eyebrow. “You care about Campbells?”

  “I feel responsible for one Campbell,” Rory corrected.

  “You said I could see her.”

  He had. And he always kept his word. He cared about honor. His personal honor. The Maclean honor. He had never forgotten the stain that long ago ancestor had
placed on the family name.

  “If she wants to see you,” he said.

  The Campbell did not say anything. Just waited.

  Rory went to the door, leaving the remaining food and wine on the table. He turned. “A warning. Do not try to leave this room.”

  He opened the door. A Maclean was standing outside.

  Rory nodded to him and strode down the hall. He wanted the Campbell to think about what he had said. He did not want a quick answer. He also needed to talk to Felicia before going further.

  He prayed he was doing the wise thing.

  If he wasn’t, lives would be lost. If he misjudged the Campbell he could destroy the clan.

  Either way, he would lose Felicia.

  But then, he’d never had her.

  Alina woke up when she moved in her sleep. Baron, who had been lying next to her, rose and stretched lazily, then nuzzled his mistress. The dog was obviously puzzled that she was not playing with him.

  Alina reached out to touch him, then glanced up at Felicia. Her eyes widened as she saw the change. “Lady Felicia?” she asked.

  “Aye,” Felicia said ruefully. She picked up a cup, filled it with water from a jug on the table, and offered it to Alina, who drank gratefully even as she kept darting glances at Felicia. Baron nuzzled his mistress again.

  Just as Alina finished her water, her mother entered with a tray. She took a step back. Like her daughter, her eyes opened wide when she saw Felicia and her shorn hair.

  “Milady,” she said, obviously shocked but too mannered to express it in words. “Oh my lady,” she said. “I did not expect you. I have been helping Moira with the cooking.”

  “To Inverleith’s advantage,” Felicia said. “It smells very good.”

  “Have mine, milady,” Alina said shyly.

  “Nay, I cannot do that,” Felicia replied. “But I will have some later.”

  She waited until Alina had sipped all the soup. When the child finished, Felicia started to open her mouth …

  The door opened, and Rory stood in the doorway. “My lady, I wish to speak to you.”

  “You said I could …”

  “I did. It concerns another matter.”

  His eyes were cool, his manner curt.

  “But …”

  “Now, Lady Janet.” He emphasized the last word.

  Confused, she rose and accompanied him to the door. She turned around. “I am so pleased you are better,” she said to Alina.

  Once in her chambers, she turned to him. “I do not understand. I thought …”

  “The longer no one knows Felicia Campbell is here, the better,” he said gruffly.

  “But Jamie …?”

  “Only Lachlan and a few men know that you are Felicia Campbell. I have warned them all not to say anything.”

  “I told Robina.”

  “I talked to her. She will say nothing.”

  “Why are you protecting me?”

  He looked at her, and his gaze was searching. He touched her hair, and she flinched. Not from his touch but from how she knew she must look. “I am sorry you felt you had to cut your hair,” he finally said, “but you look … enchanting.” His hand fell, though, and his expression told her the observation came reluctantly.

  Enchanting? Her?

  His conscience must be saying the word. Still, his eyes had the same fire she had seen in them before.

  The embers of the fierce attraction that always glowed between them flared, enveloping them in a circle of heat that was exquisitely seductive. She felt the gnawing need again, the ache for something unknown, yet compelling.

  He hesitated. His eyes clouded, then as if drawn against his will, he slowly leaned down, his lips touching hers. His hands moved along the side of her neck as his mouth explored hers ever so slowly. She knew how foolish this was, yet a pulsating anticipation infused her body, and every part of her responded to him.

  She had to return. She knew that. This had been a magnificent adventure but too many people were paying a price. She did not belong here, nor could she ever belong here.

  But from the moment his lips had touched hers, she had been helpless to resist. He brought her to life. He made every nerve tingle and her heart beat faster and her blood heat.

  She responded with a passionate desperation. This was a moment she could steal, could hold in her heart when …

  His hand touched her face, and suddenly she realized tears were falling down her cheek. Not wanting him to see the weakness, she put her head against his chest.

  Yet another mistake. She heard his heart’s rapid beat. She felt connected to him in a way she had never felt connected to another person, not even Jamie. A sense of belonging, of rightness.

  She forced herself to pull back. She took a deep breath and wiped the back of her hand against her cheek to remove any evidence of tears. It could never be right. Realization was on his face, as she knew it must be on her own.

  “Jamie?” she asked, knowing her cousin was but one obstacle between them.

  His body stiffened. “He is in a room next to mine. And well fed.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “It wasn’t for you.” His announcement was stiff, curt. Miles apart from the kiss, from his touch.

  “What was it for?”

  He took steps away from her, putting distance between them. It did nothing to lower the temperature. It was as if streaks of lightning flashed between them.

  “Tell me about your cousin,” he said.

  She did not know whether he was asking because he really wanted to know or whether it was to ease the tension between them. She did not know how to answer him. What would help Jamie, and what might hurt him? “Jamie is smart and loyal.”

  “A good son?”

  She saw the trap. “He thinks for himself.”

  “Can I trust him?”

  The words hurt. He did not mean only Jamie. He was wondering whether he could trust her as well. “I am not sure what you are asking.”

  “I think you are.”

  “He will die before he breaks his word.”

  His eyes turned to gray ice, and she did not understand why. His anger seemed to grow deeper whenever Jamie’s name was mentioned. It made her fear for him.

  “You will let him go?” she asked.

  “No,” he said bluntly. “He is valuable to me.”

  It was obvious that though he had touched her, even kissed her, he had dismissed her in his mind and heart. But then what else could she have expected? Especially now that she had shorn her hair and looked more lad than lass.

  “What can I do?” she finally asked.

  He raised an eyebrow. “At the moment, nothing, my lady.”

  No more Janet. Not even Felicia. She had become “my lady” again.

  She looked at him, searching for more. She saw nothing there. “What about me?”

  “You can stay as long as you wish.”

  “It was my fault I ran into your men. I never should have tried—”

  “What is done is done,” he cut her off.

  She looked for a hint of the passion and gentleness she had felt before. It was gone, lost in that expressionless face and cool gray eyes.

  She thought she knew why. He felt honor bound to protect her, but that put him, and his clan, in jeopardy.

  She knew the penalty for treason. She could not allow either Jamie or Rory to pay it for her.

  Desolation filled her. Emptiness. Pain.

  She had no choice now. But then she never had.

  She would find a way to reach Morneith on her own. And she would wed him.

  Chapter 17

  Why could he not control himself around Felicia?

  Rory fumed as he paced the floor of his chamber. The simple fact was he could not. She looked at him with her expressive blue eyes full of conflicting emotions. One of those emotions was always passion. A passion for life and a willingness to confront it.

  She had renewed his own. He had not realized how much
he had lost when Maggie, then Anne, died. He had been so afraid of caring again, of causing another woman’s death, that he had walled himself off from everyone, including his family.

  She had intruded into that walled fortress. He was intrigued by her recklessness, most recently evidenced by her shorn hair. Such hair suited her face far better than the long hair pulled back from her cheeks, but it would scandalize the court. The shorn curls framed her cheeks, softening her face. Her dark blue eyes appeared larger, the mouth more vulnerable. Even more inviting.

  Forget about her.

  She would be gone in the next few weeks. She was as much forbidden fruit as the apple was to Adam, and he had to remember the consequences of giving in to that temptation.

  And now he had a great deal of planning to do.

  He had no doubt as to the motivations of the players. King James, always fearing an English invasion, needed Morneith’s large army. Rory surmised that Morneith, who would betray his king only if he thought the English would win, needed a powerful friend—and ear—at court. And Angus Campbell would do whatever King James requested to keep his favored place beside the monarch.

  James Campbell had just returned from the English court. He had obviously heard none of the rumors Rory had, but that didn’t matter. Rory could give him sufficient information to make Morneith think the Campbell knew far more than he did.

  Morneith would believe a Campbell who just returned from the English court far more readily than he would a Maclean.

  The question was how far would Felicia’s cousin go for her? How deep was the connection between them?

  As much as he tried to deny it, jealousy remained a prickling needle inside him. He wished he were a better man, but it was damned difficult to hear the two praising one another.

  The devil take it. He could waste no more time mooning like a young lad. He did not believe anyone other than Alina, her mother, and Robina had seen Felicia since she had shorn her hair and dressed as a lad.

  There was no way to keep Felicia’s presence unknown much longer, but he would keep it quiet as long as he could.

  Once it became general knowledge, the senior Campbell could be expected to come after his niece. King James would realize victory could come only after a long siege and suggest patience while diplomacy commenced.