The Campbell Trilogy

by Monica McCarty

  He was only growing more agitated. His body seemed gripped in a spasm, his eyes wide open. Duncan knew that he needed to get the healer. He stood to run to the door, but his father grabbed his wrist with surprising strength.

  Their eyes met and finally he managed to speak, but the words were jumbled and difficult to make out. “Forgive me,” his father rasped. “Mother … Find … MacDonald.”

  “Father, I can’t understand—”

  But his words were cut off by a cry, as a violent convulsion wracked his father’s frail frame in one last embrace. When it was done, Duncan knew it was over.

  His father was gone.

  Now it wasn’t only the loss of the battle to be laid at his feet for his stupidity, but also his father’s life.

  He stared with dry, disbelieving eyes for a long time, overwhelmed by what had just happened. By his loss. He never got to tell his father he was sorry. He’d never got to thank him for all he’d tried to do for him.

  He heard the door open, but didn’t move. For a moment he didn’t care if he was taken, but it was only Colin. The ramifications struck him hard. Nay, not only his brother. Colin was now his chief, Campbell of Auchinbreck.

  “He’s dead,” Colin said numbly.

  Duncan nodded. “He woke for a moment. Tried to tell me something.”

  His brother’s voice was tight with emotion. “What did he say?”

  “I could only make out a few words. It sounded like he wanted me to find my mother.” The mother who’d abandoned him at birth. A serving woman—a MacDonald serving woman apparently—who’d cared so little for her child’s welfare that she’d never thought to see or even inquire after him for over twenty years. He had just as little interest in her. “I’m not sure he even knew what he was saying.”

  Colin nodded. They were both silent for a few minutes, paying respect to the father they both loved. “I came to warn you,” Colin said. “They’ve found your horse. They know you’re here.”

  Damn. He hoped they hadn’t also found his cache of weapons. He would have to wait until nightfall for the chance to retrieve them.

  “It’s not safe,” Colin said. “You have to go.”

  Duncan didn’t bother arguing. He’d just lost the one man who might have believed in him enough to prevent this gross miscarriage of justice. “Aye,” he said. “I’ll go.”

  “The Highlands are not safe for you.”

  The truth hit him hard. He would have to leave Scotland. The only home he’d ever known. But with his father gone and Jeannie lost to him, there was nothing left for him. He thought of his brothers and Lizzie. They would be better off without him. If he stayed he would only be a source of shame.

  He was truly alone.

  He made his decision. He hardened his heart against regret, against sadness, against loss. “Ireland,” he said. In Ireland there was always room for another hired sword. As a gallowglass mercenary he would have a chance to make his way—on the battlefield.

  Colin reached in his sporran and retrieved a handful of coins. “Here, you’ll need this.”

  Duncan took it with a nod. “Take care, Colin. You’ve been a loyal brother to me. I’ll not forget it.”

  “Safe travels, brother.” Something flickered in his brother’s gaze—regret? “I’m sorry.”

  Duncan swallowed the hot ball in his throat. Ignoring the throb in his chest, he bid final farewell to his father and brother.

  He left Drumin Castle, left the Highlands, left his home and family, without looking back. His destiny, it seemed, lay elsewhere. But he knew one day he would return. To clear his name and to have a final reckoning with the person who’d destroyed it.

  Two days later, he stood at the stern of the boat taking him from Kintyre, his father’s sword safely at his side, gazing longingly at the fading coastline. His last thought as it slipped from view was not of the soaring rocky shores, green hills, or crystalline waters, but of emerald eyes and auburn hair—and the woman who’d cost him everything.

  Two more weeks had come and gone, and Jeannie knew she could not delay any longer. Her father and Francis had been busy making amends to the king, but soon she knew the subject would once again turn to her marriage.

  And Duncan still had not come for her.

  Though the humiliating scene when he’d left her was still painfully fresh in her mind, when she’d calmed down, she’d convinced herself that once his anger dulled he would see the truth.

  She’d hoped that he would recognize his error on his own, but she was no longer in the position to wait. Swallowing her pride, Jeannie decided to go after him.

  With her father occupied in Inverness, she conscripted a couple of guardsmen to take her to Castleswene, the ancient royal stronghold on the west coast of Knapdale. The Campbells of Auchinbreck were the traditional keepers of the castle, and she knew it was the place Duncan considered home.

  A sharp, icy wind from the north bit down on them as they approached the formidable stone castle near dusk. The last pink swirl of sunlight was dipping over the horizon. Austere was perhaps the best word to describe the formidable tower house and curtain wall, reputed to be four centuries old and one of the oldest stone castles in all of Scotland. Perched upon a rocky knoll on the edge of the sea, the towering stone edifice was broken only by a simple arched entry.

  Unsure of her reception, Jeannie felt a trickle of trepidation as the small party passed through the gate. If the guardsmen who admitted them were surprised to hear the name of Grant, they did not show it. When she asked the bailiff who greeted her to see Duncan Dubh, however, any pretense at equanimity vanished. Without another word he directed her men to the stables and led her into the keep, leaving her in the great hall to warm herself by the fire to await Duncan.

  Immediately upon entering, Jeannie sensed that there was something wrong. A somber air hung over the place, almost as if it had been steeped in a dark cloud. The fires and candles burned low and it was painfully quiet—the few servants she saw moved about silently, heads’ bowed, avoiding her gaze.

  The wait seemed interminable. Her heart pounded fiercely in anticipation. Duncan had been so angry before, so sure of her betrayal, had he reconsidered? Had he realized yet that she could never hurt him? She gnawed at her lower lip anxiously. Would he hear her out?

  She couldn’t wait to see him.

  Finally she heard the sound of footsteps. Her heart jumped, then fell when she realized they were too light to belong to a man.

  A young girl entered the dimly lit room. Slight and petite, with hair so blonde it almost seemed white, one look at her pale face was all it took to identify her. The eyes gave her away. Elizabeth Campbell was as light as her brother was dark, but they had the same crystal-clear blue eyes of the sky on a sun-filled day.

  Duncan’s sister was a few years younger than Jeannie—probably no more than six and ten, but her serious expression bespoke someone much older. The black gown she wore didn’t help matters; the harsh contrast against her pale skin only served to make her look more severe.

  All of a sudden, Jeannie understood the reason for the somber clothing and the horrible pall that seemed to have been cast over this place. They are in mourning. She should have realized. Duncan had told her that his father had been injured. Tears welled in her eyes, her heart going out to him. Poor Duncan! How he must be hurting. That must be why he hadn’t come for her.

  Elizabeth returned her perusal, then bowed her head in greeting. “Mistress Grant.” She held a pause for a long, disquieting beat, tilting her head in a manner befitting a queen. In that regard she was also like her brother. The air of importance seemed to pervade the entire clan. “You are certainly not lacking in courage to show your face around here.”

  Jeannie’s cheeks heated with shame for her father’s part in their tragedy. “You must be Elizabeth. Your brother has mentioned you.”

  The mention of Duncan seemed to strike a strange blow. For a moment Elizabeth’s stern expression fell, revealing a painstaking
ly young girl who was suffering—deeply.

  “I’m sorry to appear here like this unannounced. At this horrible time,” Jeannie continued uncomfortably. “I know you must blame me for what my father did—”

  “It’s not only what your father did.” Elizabeth’s blue gaze fired with angry sparks. “From what I hear you played quite a significant part in it as well.”

  Jeannie shook her head. “I swear to you I had nothing to do with it. What your brother accuses me of is not true. I would never betray him.” Elizabeth remained unmoved. “Please, I must see Duncan, I would not be here if it wasn’t of the utmost importance. I had reason to believe he might be here.”

  Pain flashed in Elizabeth’s eyes. “I’m afraid you are misinformed. My brother is not here.”

  Panic rose inside her. She had to find him, there wasn’t much time. “Please, you must tell me where he is. I need to find him.”

  Her desperate plea fell on deaf ears. Elizabeth laughed harshly. “So you can finish what you started? Thank you, but I don’t care to see my brother swinging from the gallows. Burying my father and mother in one year is horrible enough—I’ll not lose a brother as well.”

  Jeannie paled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Thanks to you, Duncan has been convicted of treason.” Elizabeth explained how the note Jeannie had written had been turned against him and that gold had been found in his things.

  Her eyes widened in shock. He’d mentioned a noose around his neck, but she hadn’t thought … That was just it: She hadn’t thought. “Surely no one could truly believe that Duncan would betray his clan. He is noble to the core. He could never do anything so dishonorable. It isn’t in him. He will always do what is right and just, always.”

  Her impassioned defense finally penetrated Elizabeth’s anger. Her face crumbled. Tears shimmered in her crystalline blue eyes. “You can’t see him. It’s too late. He’s gone.”

  For a moment Jeannie’s heart stopped, everything inside her constricted so tightly it felt as if she were burning. “Gone?” she echoed disbelievingly, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Elizabeth nodded, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “Two weeks ago. Right after my father’s death. I didn’t even get a chance to say good-bye,” she sobbed, the tears breaking free.

  My God. He left me. Shock claimed her breath.

  She’d been willing to risk everything for him, and he’d left her without a word. Betrayal knifed inside her. How could he do this to her? To them.

  “Where?” she asked hollowly.

  “Ireland. At least that’s what he told Colin.”

  “I see.” Her voice sounded oddly calm, but her body was shaking uncontrollably, like glass about to shatter.

  This wasn’t the first time someone she loved had left her behind without a thought for the destruction they would leave in their wake. But experience didn’t make the anguish any easier to bear.

  Suddenly light-headed, she wobbled, her hand instinctively covering her stomach. Lizzie caught her by the elbow. “Are you all right? Here,” she said, guiding her a few steps toward a chair. “You better sit down for a minute.”

  She wasn’t all right. She didn’t think she’d ever be all right again.

  Elizabeth seemed at a loss as to what to do—her instincts for concern tempered by loyalty to her brother. Jeannie wanted to say something, but her throat felt too hot and thick to speak. She stared blindly into the dying embers of the fire, knowing the same sensation inside her heart. There was nothing left but stark, cold emptiness. The flames of love had flickered and died, and in its place leaving only the ashes of what might have been.

  “You really cared for him, didn’t you?” Elizabeth said, not bothering to hide her surprise.

  “I loved him,” Jeannie said emotionlessly. Her misfortune was that her love was not returned. Not enough to really matter. And she would pay dearly for her mistake.

  “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you betrayed him.”

  “I didn’t—” she stopped, staring into Elizabeth’s hard, unyielding eyes so like her brother’s. It didn’t matter. This girl would not believe her.

  “I think you should go before anyone else finds you here.”

  Jeannie nodded. She had no reason to stay.

  A short time later, Jeannie left Castleswene and all illusions of love and happiness behind.

  I’m a fool. I learned nothing from my mother’s mistakes.

  But she would not let him destroy her. Only one thing mattered now: The life of the babe she carried in her belly. The reason she’d been so desperate to find Duncan. She would do whatever it took to protect her child against the scandal her own impetuousness had rained down upon them both.

  Chapter 10

  Ten Years Later, Present Day

  She’d actually shot him.

  Duncan would laugh if he could manage anything other than a grimace. The greatest warrior from Ireland to cross the continent brought down by a lass—and a naked one at that. There was irony in it, he supposed, but he was in too much damned pain to appreciate it.

  Had he actually thought he could convince her to help him? That she might be willing to atone for the injustice she’d done him all those years ago? He’d held out a small ray of hope.

  But this woman who stared at him with hatred in her eyes was not the girl he remembered. She’d changed. All the vivacity and spirit seemed to have been leached right out of her, replaced by calm, cool resolve. Bold green eyes that had once sparkled with excitement now glittered as hard as cold emeralds. A mouth once turned in a perpetual smile and inclined to excited chatter was pursed in a flat line.

  What had changed her? Had life been so unkind?

  He shouldn’t—didn’t—care. Hell, perhaps he should even think it fitting revenge for the life she’d stolen from him. But he found he could not muster the enthusiasm for the revenge that had once been his only solace in the long, lonely nights when the unwanted memories struck. Revenge was the province of bitterness, and he’d relinquished that long ago. Now all Duncan wanted was the truth.

  If he lived long enough to find it. Not only had Jeannie put a hole in his stomach, she was also apparently eager to put a noose around his neck. Before he wouldn’t have thought her capable of such vindictiveness, but he did not doubt the resolve of the woman standing before him. He was glad the pistol she carried only had one shot or he had no doubt he’d find himself riddled with holes.

  He heard the sound of footsteps running toward him, his men responding to the gunfire. Summoning what was left of the strength that had not bled out of him, he gritted his teeth, held his hand to his stomach just below the edge of his leather plated cuirass to staunch the bleeding, and fought to a stand.

  He staggered. For a moment the pain engulfed him and his mind went black. He tensed, bracing against the firestorm raging inside him, and managed to stave off unconsciousness.

  She stood stone still, making no move to help him.

  Conall tore through the trees. “Captain, we heard—” He stopped in his tracks, stunned to see Duncan’s condition. “What in Hades …?”

  Duncan motioned to Jeannie. “Conall. Leif. Meet Lady Gordon.” The name curdled in his mouth.

  There was a long pause as his men absorbed—none too easily—the significance.

  It was Leif who spoke first. “The lass shot you?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Duncan said wryly, finding the patent incredulity in his captain’s voice somewhat of a salve to his skewered pride.

  Conall whistled and shook his head, crossing thick arms across a chest that would make a bear envious. “The men won’t believe this. No one has ever gotten the jump on you.”

  “Well, she did.” Twice, in fact, if you counted her stealing the map while he slept in sated bliss. It was a lesson well learned. He’d never lost control like that again, never allowed himself to succumb to such connubial stupor.

  Leif recovered first, removing a square of dirty linen fro
m his sporran and handing it to Duncan. The Norseman had been quick to adopt the practical and convenient leather pouch worn around the waist, in addition to the breacan feile, the belted plaid, of the Highlands.

  Duncan took the cloth, though it wasn’t going to do much good. It was like trying to dam a rushing burn with a scrap of parchment. “There’s no time to tarry. We must go before the entire garrison rains down upon us to investigate.”

  Conall frowned. “But I thought the lass—”

  “I was mistaken.” Duncan eyed Jeannie, seeing nothing but hardness. “The woman will be of no help to me.”

  Perhaps he’d been a fool to think she ever would. She’d chosen her side years ago, supporting—nay, aiding—her treacherous father.

  For weeks after he’d left Scotland, Duncan had done something he never did: second-guessed himself. He’d racked his head to find another explanation. But either he’d lost the map on the battlefield and it had miraculously ended up in Grant’s hands, someone had taken it while he slept the few hours in his tent, or the far more logical explanation that Jeannie had taken it. Her oddly worded note, her determination that he not leave, the rearrangement of his belongings all pointed to her. Still, something ate at him. He couldn’t forget how she’d looked that night he’d surprised her in her chamber—the last time he’d seen her. She’d appeared, she’d sounded, she’d seemed … innocent.

  Unable to reconcile the sweet girl he knew with the manipulative schemer anger had created in his mind, he’d decided to return. Then, right before he was to set sail, word reached him of her marriage to Francis Gordon.

  She hadn’t even waited a month. Three weeks after he’d left, barely escaping with his life, she’d married. While he’d been agonizing about whether he’d committed a grave injustice against her, she’d been lying in the arms of another man.

  The swift marriage confirmed his worst fears. It begat the darkest period of his life, the time when he’d earned his fearsome reputation. Eventually the gut-wrenching betrayal had given way to the faint pinch of discomfort he felt now. But even that tiny remnant of weakness infuriated him.