Beloved Impostor

by Patricia Potter

  “I imagine because she was not enthralled with your choice of a husband,” Jamie retorted. “Is that why you sent me to London? You knew I would disapprove.”

  “It does not matter whether you approved or disapproved,” his father said. “You do not make the decisions for this family. Or for Scotland.”

  “I do not ken your meaning.”

  “The match was not my making. It was the king’s. He will be in rare fury.” Then a sly smile crept over his face. “Mayhap it means the end of the Macleans. He will not like his will challenged.”

  “Then he will not like what I have to say,” Jamie said.

  His father narrowed his eyes. “What do you have to say?”

  “James wants an alliance between the Campbells and Morneith to strengthen the clans against King Henry,” Jamie started cautiously.

  “Aye, we have information that Henry plans an invasion.”

  “Possibly with Morneith’s assistance.”

  His father stared at him. “If this is to help your cousin …”

  “Nay. I heard the information in London,” Jamie lied. “Morneith has been promised land and title to turn on King James.”

  “I cannot believe it. His family has been a supporter of the Scottish crown since the Bruce.”

  Jamie shrugged. “Mayhap he feels his fortunes rest more with the English than his own king.”

  “What proof do you have?”

  “Demned little,” Jamie said. “But I have names of men he has contacted. I have terms I was told he wanted.”

  “You would not be telling me this to stop the wedding.”

  “Risk treason? Nay. I would not. I was riding back from London to tell you of what I heard, when I discovered Felicia was missing. And why.”

  For a second, his father averted his glance, then he went on attack. Jamie had known he would. Angus Campbell always did when he was in the wrong. He blustered. “If you have no proof, there is nothing but your word. And the word of a stripling next to Morneith’s has little value.”

  Resentment filled Jamie at the description of him as a stripling. He struggled to control his temper. “And if it were true?”

  “If it were true, I would hang the man myself,” Angus said.

  “Do you wish to know?”

  Angus bristled. “I am loyal to King James. If there is someone who intends to betray him …”

  His voice faded away as if he were still unsure what to believe.

  “You know his reputation,” Jamie said.

  “I know he is a libertine, but I have never heard anyone question his loyalty,” his father said. “Who told you this calumny?”

  “A friend of Buckingham’s at the English court. He despised Morneith,” he lied. “He wants war no more than we do.”

  “It is to English benefit to turn Scot against Scot.”

  “Aye, I understand that. But the Macdonald’s lands were mentioned, and Maclean’s, as the reward.”

  His father’s eyes gleamed at the mention of Macleans, but the glow soon died. If the tale was true, the only way Morneith would get the land would be the defeat of King James, and that would mean the defeat of Campbells as well. Still, Jamie realized that Rory Maclean had been right. His father would have never believed any words that came from the Macleans.

  “It could be a scheme of the Macleans to divide us,” he said.

  “Aye, I considered that. I still do.”

  “How did you escape?”

  “The youngest Maclean. He was not pleased about his brother’s return or Rory Maclean holding Felicia as a hostage. I promised him protection.”

  “You had no right to make such a promise. It is not binding on me.”

  “Aye it is. It is the word of a Campbell.”

  His father ignored that. “I will go to James about the rumor.”

  “Nay,” Jamie said.

  His father looked startled.

  “Morneith would simply deny it,” Jamie said.

  “Then what …”

  “I will tell Morneith privately that I know of the agreement, that I heard it from one of the participants. I will tell him of the sum agreed upon as well as the lands he would be granted.”

  “If you are right, he will kill you.” A hint of worry crept into his father’s voice. Or was it skepticism?

  “Not if I tell him one other person knows. I will ask for a sum of money not to tell you or the king. I will arrange to meet him someplace where a king’s man can overhear.”

  “Morneith is not a stupid man,” his father said.

  “Nay, but he could not risk not knowing exactly how much a danger I am. His head is at stake.”

  “I do not like it,” his father said.

  “Do you have a better suggestion?”

  “I can confront him.”

  “Then he will have time to get word to his English friends and find a way to bury all evidence of his bargain.”

  His father looked at him with a new awareness. Or wariness. “Does this have anything to do with your cousin?” he asked again.

  “The betrothal makes me all the more determined to reveal the man as a traitor,” Jamie admitted, “but it does not change the danger he presents to King James.”

  His father stared at him for a long time as if searching beneath the words. He was obviously weighing his own alternatives.

  “How was she when you left her at Inverleith?”

  There it was again, the small accusation. “She said she was being treated well. She looked well.” He did not mention her shorn locks.

  “And you? Did they hurt you?”

  “A few bruises and cuts. A wet, cold cell.”

  His father’s jaw clenched. “I will send soldiers tomorrow to fetch your cousin.”

  “Inverleith cannot be breached.”

  “Then I will starve them out. The king will assist me.”

  “You will be starving your niece as well,” Jamie persisted. “Let us wait until we know about Morneith’s motives.”

  “Their abduction of a Campbell is a challenge,” his father said. “Our honor is at stake.”

  “You could pay the ransom.”

  His father’s face reddened. “Not to Macleans. Have you lost your wits, lad? Do not let your affection for your cousin affect your head. I will send someone to William immediately and instruct him to prepare for a siege.”

  Jamie had expected the response, though he had hoped to delay any action. He knew, though, that any continued protests would only put his primary mission in danger. Once Morneith was revealed, then he could reveal the Maclean’s part and perhaps bridge a century of fighting.

  He merely nodded. Rory Maclean had expected the reaction and it would take time to mount a siege.

  His father sat down heavily and stretched his right leg in front. It was painfully swollen, a condition that always made him irritable. “How are you going to approach Morneith?”

  “He is here in Edinburgh?”

  “Nay. He is with the king on a hunting trip,” Angus Campbell said grumpily.

  “I will try to speed his return, then.”

  “I wish to see his reaction with my own eyes.”

  “He would not say anything in front of you.”

  “Do ye consider me a fool?” Angus asked. “Of course not. But I know of a room with a spyhole.”

  Elation filled Jamie. He had won at least one battle. His father believed him or, at the very least, was listening.

  Now if he could only bluff Morneith into an admission. Then he would have to somehow find a way to bring Felicia safely home and, finally, restore that glow in Janet’s eyes.

  Chapter 23

  Rory rode out at first dawn with a small troop of men and extra mounts. He intended to bring in those clansmen who remained in the destroyed village, and any others who farmed or herded on Maclean lands and had not yet come into the keep.

  Archibald could have accomplished the task as well, but they both thought some clansmen might be reluctant to leave, e
ven with the possibility of an invading army. Rory, as laird, must be obeyed.

  Rory also knew he had to leave the keep, and Felicia. Guilt ate at him for bedding her. Yet he doubted he could resist her if he remained at Inverleith. She was like water to a man thirsting to death.

  In the course of three days, they had found twenty-eight clansmen who had been reluctant to leave their crofts. His last stop was at the village destroyed by Campbells. He found Alex and his father and three other men rebuilding. They had already rebuilt two crofts.

  “You have to come with us,” he said.

  “Why?” Alex’s father asked.

  “The danger has increased,” Rory said. “We expect more raiding from the Campbells, perhaps even a siege. We will need every Maclean on the walls.”

  The man nodded. It was his duty to come when the laird summoned.

  “We found a few cattle,” Alex said.

  We will take them with us,” Rory said. “We are bringing them in from other areas as well.” He knew livestock represented a better life. The ground was not good for farming.

  The Macleans packed what remained after the raid and followed Rory on foot. It would be a day’s march.

  When they arrived at Inverleith, the area around the keep was thick with livestock. Rory worried about how long the land could continue to feed them.

  The gates opened for them, and they passed another group of horsemen leaving the keep. He knew that Archibald had continued patrolling all the passes and roads to Inverleith, as well as the coast. Too many Scots had been surprised by raids from the sea. He wished for a moment that he was at Duart, across the Sound of Mull on the Isle of Mull. The sea protected the island from raids, and it was virtually unassailable.

  But that was another branch of Macleans.

  He rode to the stables, wearily stepped down from the horse, and gave the reins to a stable lad. He took a moment to look in on the new foal. She was nuzzling her mother, obviously in search of food. New life. New beginnings.

  “Has Lady … Felicia been here?” He knew everyone should know her true identity by now.

  “Every morn’ and eve,” the lad said. “Fer a Campbell, she ain’t so bad,” the lad added, then looked appalled that he would speak so.

  “Does everyone else believe that as well?”

  “Aye, milord.”

  “Do they think we should give her up?”

  “Nay. We would be seen as weak then. And she is a real lady, she is.” Pride was in the lad’s voice.

  Rory hoped it was the community feeling as well. There had been a woeful lack of pride when he had returned.

  Rory meant to restore it to them, one way or another, even as he intended to protect Felicia. If Lachlan and James Campbell failed, or if Campbell betrayed them, he still had the means to spirit her away to safety. He left the stable and went to the armory where Douglas bent over the books.

  He looked up as Rory stepped inside.

  “’Tis good to have you back. Some villagers brought more cattle.”

  “How many are there?”

  “We have over five hundred people inside. Of them, two hundred have borne arms. They are training the villagers. We have enough food for a prolonged siege, and our wells should be able to supply enough water, though we will have to ration.”

  “We will not ration,” Rory said. “I will challenge Campbell to a personal fight first.”

  “You have not trained in years.”

  “It is true I have grown rusty. A sailor fights the sea, not usually men. But I plan to start today. First I need some rest.”

  Douglas nodded. “You look as if you haven’t slept in days.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Should I keep them at watch?”

  “It will take at least a month for the Campbells to call in their men and arm them for a siege. But they can send raiding parties our way. I do not want our cattle to disappear. I want every man in training. I want to know who are slackers and who are not.”

  “Aye,” Douglas said, then changed the subject. “The lass has been helping in the kitchen as well as with the wounded.”

  Rory did not have to ask what lass. He ignored the remark. “I will be back about mid-afternoon.”

  “I will have our best fighters available.” Douglas eyed Rory. “You look able. I remember you used to be very good.”

  “Ten years ago,” Rory said wryly.

  “It is something you do not forget.”

  “I pray not.” With those words, Rory went up to his chamber. He was far too exhausted to have more than a yearning to see Felicia. It would grow, he knew, but now all he wanted was a bed and a meal that was not oatmeal. He took off his sweat-stained plaid and shirt and lay naked on the bed. The exhaustion was a blessing. It blocked thinking. Feeling. Wanting.

  At least he hoped to hell it would.

  Edinburgh

  Jamie paid a visit to Morneith’s home in Edinburgh. He discovered the man would not return for eight days.

  Eight days was a lifetime. His father had already sent word to William at Dunstaffnage to prepare for a siege of Inverleith.

  He left a letter and asked that it be sent to Morneith. Perhaps it would speed his return, or at least make the man worry.

  He had thought about the words long and hard.

  My dear Morneith. I have news of my cousin Felicia Campbell as well as greetings from the Duke of Buckingham in London. I think we may have many common interests and would like to discuss them with you.

  After leaving the note for Morneith, he decided to look for Lachlan.

  Lachlan interested him. He appeared to have no ambition to be laird, nor did he seem to have any deep convictions at all. He was obviously well read, but he treated almost everything as mildly amusing, including his current role as traitor. Jamie realized now it was all a facade to keep any more intimate questions from surfacing.

  It did not comfort him, though, to depend on a man who was a mystery.

  Jamie found Lachlan in the tavern he’d suggested.

  Lachlan was strumming a lute, but no one paid attention to him, nor to Jamie. Jamie made his way over to the table and sat across from him.

  “You play well,” he said as if he had never heard him before.

  “A coin or two would not be remiss,” Lachlan replied.

  Jamie took one from a purse he carried and tossed it to him.

  Lachlan returned to his lute. He had a fine, deep voice, but no one in the tavern seemed interested. When he finished his song, he asked in a low voice. “Have you talked to your father? Or to the Earl of Morneith?”

  “My father, aye. He is doubtful but willing to be proven wrong. As for the earl, he is on a hunting trip with the king. He may not be back for eight days. But I sent a message. I thought it best to let him worry.”

  Lachlan strummed the lute. “Bad luck, that. I will be staying next door. I rented a room. ’Tis the second one above the butcher shop. You can find me either there or here. The owner here has employed me. I get food and whatever coins are given me.”

  “With what name?”

  “Campbell seems to be a popular one in Edinburgh,” Lachlan said with a slightly amused twist of his lips. It was not quite a smile but more a cynical observation.

  “With good reason,” Jamie said.

  Lachlan shrugged even as he lowered his voice. “Your father? What does he plan to do?”

  “March on Inverleith. But you already knew he would.”

  “Rory expected it. I’d hoped you had more influence.”

  “I am but a stripling in my father’s eyes.”

  A customer lurched over and put a coin in front of Lachlan. “More,” he said.

  Lachlan started strumming again as Jamie left the tavern, chafing against the delays and hoping his missive to Morneith would end the waiting.

  “The laird has returned,” Moira said, a new excitement in her voice.

  Felicia had noted a hum of anticipation in the keep. Perhaps it was all the
people streaming in.

  Everyone had a task. The women who had come for protection had found the conditions not to their liking and had taken it upon themselves to clean the many fireplaces, sweep the floors, and clean the great hall.

  Felicia helped as well. She’d never been still. She could not be now. So the hours she did not spend with Alina, she assisted in the kitchen. An early awkwardness faded when she brushed aside protests and carried bowls of stew to families.

  He was safe. Thank God for that. Would he seek her out? Her body warmed at the thought of seeing him, at memories of the last time.

  She kept hoping he would stop and see her. Or Alina. Her heart pounded faster whenever she heard footsteps or voices. But none belonged to him. She heard gossip, however. First from Moira, then Robina. He had gone immediately to his room. He planned to train with several clansmen later.

  Fear ran like a rain-swollen stream through her. She knew single combat was often used to settle disputes. Could he possibly be thinking of challenging a Campbell? Jamie would be the logical one to fight for the Campbells.

  She finished serving the loaves of bread and bowls of stew for the midday meal.

  No sign of the lord.

  She returned to her chamber, then went to Alina’s. Alina’s mother would be down in the kitchen. Baron greeted her by jumping up against her gown and barking a welcome. She leaned down and picked him up, rubbed his ears, and listened to the dog’s small groans of pleasure.

  “Do you have an end to my story?” Alina asked.

  Felicia did not. She wanted a prince who would fight for her heroine, but she had not yet found him. And Alina was smart enough not to accept a lesser being.

  Why could she not be as smart?

  She was certainly attracted to Rory Maclean. She would not admit any deeper emotion to herself. But he was certainly not her prince. He did not want her. Not enough to test the feud that had stretched between their families. So why did he remain in her every thought? Why did she look for him in every face she saw and in every figure that prowled the halls of Inverleith?

  He was going to train this afternoon. Jamie had always said she was good with the sword. She had not his strength, but she had an agility that helped her nearly defeat him more than once.