by Amy Jarecki
Blast her inquisition. “Nay, but you could have been. When I give an order, I expect it to be followed.”
“So you desire me to obey your every word without question?” She curtseyed. “Oh gallant knight.”
“Bloody hell.” He pushed past her and stared up at the stag’s head. “You make it sound as if I am some sort of tyrant.”
“Are you not?”
“Of course I am not.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I’ve a great many things to oversee, and—”
The door opened, and a servant walked in with a tray. “Your supper, m’lord.”
Colin pointed to the table. “Leave it.” His blood coursed hot beneath his skin until the servant took his leave. Colin grabbed his cloak from the peg. “Eat. I shall bed down in the stable tonight, since my presence is so maddening for you.”
He flung open the door. “I trust your person can manage to remain within the cottage for the night?” He didn’t wait for her response and slammed the door.
Colin marched across the yard to the stables. Marrying Margaret Robinson was the worst idea he’d ever had. He never should have gone through with the ceremony. The absolute last thing he needed was a headstrong wife. Blast her. If things didn’t improve when they reached Dunstaffnage, he’d have no recourse but to consider an annulment on the grounds of personal incompatibility.
He pushed inside the stable and tossed his gear beside Maxwell.
The lad sat up. “Is everything all right, m’lord?”
“Aye, everything is bloody wonderful.” He kicked the straw into a pile.
“Where is Lady Margaret?”
“In the cottage, where else?”
“So…er…why are you here?” At eighteen, the young squire also could use a lesson in curbing his tongue.
“That’s none of your concern.”
Maxwell reclined against the wall. “She’s pretty.”
Colin gave him a stern glare—a warning to keep his mouth shut.
The lad spread his palms apologetically. “I mean, your wife, it’s not bad to notice…um…you’re a lucky man…er…lord.”
Colin plopped down on his mound of hay. “Wheesht, would you shut your gob?”
Maxwell hung his head. “Sorry.”
Colin grumbled under his breath. He pulled his cloak across his shoulders and reclined. Just over three sennights and the Kilchurn walls would be mudded up. He needed to remain behind work with the master mason, but doing so was out of the question. Margaret already thought him a rogue. Sending her ahead to Dunstaffnage, though tempting, would be heartless. Besides, he could not allow her to arrive at the castle alone and have Effie thrust Duncan into her arms. The least chivalric of all knights would accompany his wife to ensure his family was settled and comfortable.
He groaned. Traveling there and back would only keep him away for two more days. It was the right thing to do.
Colin closed his eyes on a sigh. Things with Margaret would settle soon and he could tend to his affairs. He rolled to his side. Last night he’d rested in the same position and nuzzled into Margaret’s silken hair. Warmth spread throughout his chest. He could bury his nose in that woman’s tresses for an eternity.
His eyes flashed open. No, I could not and must not. He slapped his hand to his head. This morning he’d awaken with the most painful erection he’d ever had in his life. That bloody woman was the cause. If she hadn’t been sleeping beside him, he would have had frozen cods like the rest of his men, and his embarrassing, unholy cock wouldn’t have taken so long to ease.
He shifted uncomfortably. It was best for him to sleep in the stable, away from her and that bonny smell. Mercifully, she’d have her own chamber at the castle and could leave him to his miserable mourning. He’d cool down his heated Campbell urges and set his mind on rejoining the crusade.
Chapter Ten
The Highlands, 11th October, 1455
As expected, Margaret rode behind the wagon on this last leg of their journey to Dunstaffnage. Colin had been such an insufferable tyrant last eve, he’d given her no time to discuss her findings. However, in all honesty, she needed to decide how to broach the subject before she told him the women thought his factor corrupt. The idea of conversing with him on such a delicate matter filled her with trepidation. Colin was nowhere near as approachable as her father had been. Would the Black Knight explode in a rage? Last night he’d shown her a sampling of his temper. She had little doubt he could fire off a roar like a line of battlement cannons.
She cringed. At least Mother would be pleased at her restraint. She’d been tempted to follow him outside and tell him exactly what she thought of his overbearing concern for safety and top it off by slamming him with the fact his factor was considered a cheat.
But then, Colin had most likely employed Walter MacCorkodale for a very long time. Her word against a trusted servant would be grave, and at this stage, Lord Glenorchy would probably side with the swindler. Factors were learned and respected men, but could become corrupt if not held accountable—she’d learned that through her father’s experience. With Colin’s frequent absences and trips abroad, she imagined Walter MacCorkodale had been given too much freedom with his quill, among other things. Margaret would like to meet the man and assess his character for herself. Perhaps she’d gain an opportunity soon.
She chuckled at her antics from the prior day. The Campbell and MacGregor women were of strong Highland stock. Though initially they were guarded, they’d opened up as soon as Margaret started working beside them. The years she’d spent employed by her father had helped her develop a keen respect for crofters. Every soul in the clan was important and deserved both charity and respect. This core value provided the foundation of Margaret’s principles. One with which she would never part.
She had no reason to doubt the validity of washerwomen’s concerns—especially the fact the MacGregor men were innocent and worked well beside the Campbell clan, and everyone wanted to see the castle completed quickly.
Perhaps Colin had spent the evening speaking to the men, since he’d stayed the night someplace other than the cottage bedchamber. Thank all holiness for that small boon. She’d be content if he stayed away from her bedchamber for the rest of their days.
It was afternoon when she gathered her wits and cued her mare for a canter. Her palms instantly started to perspire when she joined Lord Glenorchy and Lord Argyll at the front of the procession.
Colin arched his brow under his helm. “Lady Margaret.” He said nothing to urge her back to the rear.
“M’lord.” She smoothed a hand over her skirts. “Were you able to speak to the MacGregors about the vandalism?”
“Heaven’s stars, woman.” He gave her a stern frown. “You’d best leave these things to me.”
“Aye, Colin?” By his wide-eyed response, she’d caught him off guard, using his familiar name with a hint of sarcasm. Though her insides quaked, his reaction served to encourage her to press him. “And to whom shall I leave things after you set sail with no possible way of contacting you for months?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I’ve said I will not head for Rome before I’ve got things set to rights.”
Och aye, whilst I’m locked away with a wee bairn in some archaic castle? “I see, and affairs will stay in a perfect state of ‘right’ throughout the duration of your crusade?”
Argyll leaned forward in his saddle. “She has a point.”
Colin ran his fingers under his helm. “I assure you, m’lady, all will be in place before I take my leave. The only thing you will need to concern yourself with is Duncan’s education and birthing a bairn yourself.”
Margaret pulled on her reins. Rolling heat crept up her face. Argyll let out a boisterous laugh.
And she’d thought him a more agreeable character than Colin? Wonderful. She’d spent the entire morning gathering her wits, only to be met with a snarl and laughter. Turning her mare, she headed back to the solitude of her “place” behind the wagon.
Who needed to ride beside a bombastic, pigheaded husband and his nephew?
Birthing the Black Knight’s bairn? So he does intend to continue marital relations. Heaven help me.
She’d almost made it to the wagon when Colin’s gauntleted hand reached for her reins. “We’re nearly there, Lady Margaret. Come, you’ll enjoy the view far more from the lead.”
She sat fully erect with a challenging glare. “Are you not afraid outlaws will charge out of the wood and spring upon us?”
“Not this close to Dunstaffnage, lest the fools are out to have their throats cut.” He chuckled. “The Campbells have been keepers of this land since Robert the Bruce united Scotland.” He inhaled deeply. “Nary a soul in these parts would ride against me and my men.”
She turned her mare back around. “Would you would prefer to call this home?”
“Nay. Though we govern, this is the king’s land. Innis Chonnell has always been the Campbell keep, now owned by my nephew.” A faraway glint shimmered in Colin’s eye. “Kilchurn will soon be finished. It will exceed the grandeur of Dunstaffnage, and when it is complete, I shall build a castle even more imposing on Argyll’s new holdings in Inverary. The Campbell name shall be feared throughout Scotland.”
“I daresay it already is,” Margaret mumbled under her breath, steering her mare beside Argyll.
He nodded agreeably. “You do dream on a lofty scale, uncle.”
“And why should I not? We are lords of this land.” Colin shook his gauntleted finger. “Never forget that.”
They rode past a lovely chapel nestled in the wood. Through the trees, a well-worn path led to an outer gatehouse, fortified by stone bailey walls, not unlike her family’s keep on Loch Rannoch. Smoke billowing from chimneys, the castle walls loomed atop a solid-rock outcrop. The natural stone, tall as the surrounding trees, projected from the grassy landscape.
They entered a narrow-walled pathway leading to the inner gate. The dark grey curtain stretched high to the heavens. Much taller than Dunalasdair. As they rounded the corner, the donjon tower emerged above the walls, with defensive arrow slits strategically placed all the way up to the crenelated top.
“I can see why Robert the Bruce desired a stronghold fortified such as this.” Margaret shifted her gaze to the west. “Is the cove an outlet to the sea?”
Colin pointed. “Aye, the castle sits on the point where Loch Etive meets the Firth of Lorn.”
“I should like to walk atop the wall and see it.”
“Perhaps after you meet our son.”
Margaret would have been content if Colin had smiled when he spoke it. But his voice held a monotonous tone, as if he couldn’t care less what occupied her time outside of her duties as stepmother.
What have I done to earn his disdain? This whole charade would be much easier to bear if we could be on friendlier terms. My mother and father always spoke to each other candidly. That is all I ask.
Everything turned to blackness when they rode beneath the inner gate’s dank portcullis. Margaret tensed. Would this be her prison? She wasn’t met with the welcomed feeling of open air and majestic mountains like she’d been in Glen Orchy. True, Dunstaffnage was surrounded by trees and water. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but this castle sent chills to her bones. No wonder Colin was driven to build upon his lands. Whether he liked it or not, she would do everything in her power to see to the completion of the tower house. Kilchurn would be her home too, God willing.
***
Relieved to have arrived at Dunstaffnage, Colin could now deposit Margaret in her rooms and move on with his affairs. The dusting of snow they’d had on the trail was a stern reminder winter wasn’t far off. If he didn’t set sail for Rome soon, he’d be forced to delay his journey until spring. He doubted Jacques de Milly would want to wait. War didn’t stop in the Holy Land like it did during winter in the north.
After dismounting in the courtyard, he ushered Margaret into the keep. “We’ll stop at the nursery first. I’m sure you’re anxious to see Duncan.”
“Indeed.”
Fortunately, she didn’t argue with him on that point. If the trip was any indication, Lady Margaret was a strong-willed woman—perhaps too much so.
Leading her up the winding tower stairs, his back tingled, sensing her eyes assessing him. Did she appreciate what she saw? Not that he should care. Did she like him at all? He shouldn’t care about that either.
Finally, they crested the steps and he led her through the upper passageway and opened the door. The nursery resounded with a healthy wail. Effie’s gaze snapped up. She held Duncan in her arms, but Colin’s son would not be consoled. The bairn’s wee voice struck a chord deep in the black recesses of his heart. Frozen in place for an instant, he wanted to turn tail and run.
The nursemaid stood. “M’lord.”
Blinking, he forced himself to cross the room and kiss her cheek. “Effie, please allow me to introduce Lady Margaret.”
“’Tis my pleasure.” Margaret beamed. Her eyes dropped to Duncan, still holding forth with wee gasps between breaths. “My, he has healthy lungs.”
Effie held the babe out to Colin. He had no choice but to cradle him. His black heart swelled with the return of too many raw memories. The bairn cried louder. Must be my cold armor.
“I cannot believe I’ve only been gone a fortnight and he’s already changed.” Colin pressed his lips against Duncan’s forehead. He smelled of sweetness only babies possessed. Closing his eyes, Colin offered a desperate and silent prayer that this child would live well into adulthood.
He held crying bairn out to Margaret. “Meet your stepson.”
She cradled him in her arms with a nervous chuckle. The babe immediately quieted. Colin’s mouth went dry. To see his bairn take an instant liking to Margaret was bittersweet. He berated himself. Yes, he wanted, needed her to form a bond, but seeing her holding Duncan with Jonet’s grave still warm made sanity flee. The room spun.
Margaret seemed not to notice the sweat beading Colin’s brow. “Such a warm little bundle. Is he eating well?”
“Aye, the wet nurse is never far away.” Effie nodded approvingly. “He likes ye.”
Margaret’s cheeks took on a glow. “How fortunate he has a breast from which to suckle.”
Colin needed air. He pinched the bridge of his nose. If only Jonet could have been the one to feed the bairn.
Margaret stepped toward him while gently rocking Duncan. “Are you well, m’lord?”
“Perfectly fine.” He tried to smile. “Thrilled to be here at last.”
Margaret eyed him as if she weren’t convinced—strong-willed and too perceptive for her own good.
Effie reached for Duncan. “You must be exhausted from your journey.”
Rubbing her hip, Margaret nodded. “Happy to be out of the saddle.”
“I’ll put Duncan down then will show you to your chamber.”
Colin bowed. “Thank you, matron. I’ve things to attend.” He turned to Margaret. “Try to rest m’lady. We’ll have a small meal in the great hall this eve.”
Margaret curtseyed and Colin took his leave. He couldn’t remove himself from the nursery fast enough.
Marching to his chamber, a maelstrom of twisted emotions coursed through him. Though he was thrilled to see Duncan, the sight of his bairn brought back his misery full force. Jonet had decorated the nursery. Everywhere he looked there was something that reminded him of her. She’d embroidered the bedclothes, even the gown Duncan wore had been embroidered by the woman he’d once adored.
Maxwell met Colin in his rooms and began the process of removing his armor. Colin’s gaze shot to his immense four-poster bed. Duncan had been conceived in that very spot. It had been the eve of the Yuletide Feast, he was sure of it.
Jonet had high color in her cheeks that eve—and it wasn’t only caused by the mulled wine. Colin guessed she was fertile when they’d supped and she’d lulled him with half-cast eyes.
“Will there be anything else, m’lord?
”
Colin blinked. “Pardon?”
“Can I be of further service?” Maxwell asked.
He smoothed his hands over his arms. His mind had been so full of memories, he’d no idea the squire had already removed his entire coat of armor. “No, lad. You’re free to go.”
Colin sat in his overstuffed chair and rubbed his face. In the past month, his entire life had been sifted through a thresher. Though surrounded by people, he’d never felt so lonely. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Margaret’s face flooded his thoughts. First at the fete, when they hadn’t yet been introduced, she was as happy and lively as a kitten. He could have gathered her in his arms and danced a jig.
He lowered his hands and chuckled. I could be a miserably hopeless romantic if I let down my guard.
She’d looked as lovely as a painting when she gazed at him and studied his face during the wedding. He inhaled, remembering how much her scent had affected him that first night—and after.
His gut clenched. He cast a sorrowful gaze toward the bed. He should not be thinking of Margaret. Colin crossed the room and grasped one of the pillows Jonet had embroidered. He held it to his face, but only dust filled his nose. He smashed the damnable thing between his palms.
Why did this have to happen to him? Why was he standing in his chamber feeling wretched, hating himself? Men often lost wives to childbirth and were forced to wed another. He’d done nothing but his duty as a father and as Lord of Glenorchy. Christ, he’d even vowed not to allow Margaret into his heart.
He threw the pillow across the room and stormed out the door. Elliot had three short sennights to work on Kilchurn. Blast. Colin needed to supervise the work himself—ensure every effort was put forth before they started mudding.
Without his armor weighing him down, he dashed up the tower stairs like he was flying. Stepping out into the crisp autumn breeze, he inhaled deeply. Moored in the protective waters of Loch Etive, his fleet of sea galleys rocked with the waves. The largest had a tall mast and eighteen oars. Fast and seaworthy, he’d had her fitted with the latest Portuguese cannon when he was in Rome. No other galley in the Highlands could best her.
