Campbell's Redemption

by Sharon Cullen

  “Angry and distraught?” Donaldson asked. “And what did he say when he was angry and distraught?”

  Palmer swallowed, his gaze caught on Donaldson. Iain’s heart sank. He knew then that all had been lost to him.

  “He…he said if I didn’t do something about Lieutenant Donaldson, then he would.”

  Iain closed his eyes and felt the noose tighten around his neck. He didn’t blame Palmer. The man was an officer for the English army. His livelihood and his entire career depended on this interrogation. And he was only speaking the truth. Iain had said that.

  Rutherford turned his attention to Iain. “Tell me, Lord Kerr, how did you kill Lieutenant Donaldson?”

  “With a large tree branch,” Iain said. “I bludgeoned him on the head. Twice.”

  “And then you stabbed him and cut his throat?”

  Iain frowned. Stabbed? Throat cut? “I hit him with a tree branch over the head. I didn’t stab him or cut his throat.”

  “I find it hard to believe that you just happened to find Donaldson in the forest and you hit him on the head twice. You’re a Highland warrior. In my experience, Highland warriors are a bit more sophisticated in their killing.”

  “I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m a Highland warrior. I am from the Highlands, yes, but I was educated in Glasgow and spent much of my earlier years in England, going to school and building a shipping business.”

  “So you’re not Scottish?” Rutherford asked, being deliberately obtuse.

  “I didn’t say that,” Iain bit out between clenched teeth. His jaw was hurting, his finger was throbbing, and his head felt like someone was hammering it from the inside.

  “So you admit to killing Lieutenant Donaldson?”

  “I’ve already said as much.”

  “And the others?”

  It occurred to Iain what was happening here. Rutherford was going to pin the other deaths on him. It made sense now. If Rutherford could find the killer, he would gain favor with his superiors and put at ease a contingent of soldiers who were increasingly fearful of patrolling the countryside. Most likely, Rutherford would receive a promotion. And Iain would conveniently die.

  The plan was brilliant, and Iain was only angry that he hadn’t thought of it sooner. “I did not kill the other English soldiers,” he said.

  “I’m curious why you admit to killing one but not the others.”

  “There is nothing to admit to because I did not kill the others. I killed Donaldson because he attacked and beat Cait Campbell.” Iain was fighting a dizzying desperation the likes of which he’d never experienced. He was fighting for his life, well aware that it was futile. Rutherford had him hanging before Iain even walked into the room.

  “If I may, sir.” Palmer stepped forward, and Rutherford turned an icy stare to him. “I saw Cait Campbell’s injuries myself, and Lord Campbell’s story matches the evidence I saw.”

  “And you’re an expert on matching evidence?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Then I suggest you be quiet before you further implicate yourself. I’m already concerned that you were taking orders from a Scotsman.”

  Palmer flushed but pressed forward, impressing Iain with his willingness to hang himself alongside the Scotsman. “Colonel Rutherford, I brought Iain Campbell here because he admitted to killing Lieutenant Donaldson. I find it outrageous that you are trying to implicate me in these other far-fetched schemes you feel me capable of, and I am certain that Iain Campbell did not kill those other soldiers.”

  Rutherford tilted his head and stared Palmer down. “I find you insubordinate, Captain Palmer. We will discuss your punishment later.”

  “This is absurd,” Iain said. “You are intent on finding me guilty of something I had nothing to do with.” He leaned forward. “I killed Donaldson but not the others.”

  Iain and Rutherford stared at each other for long moments. Iain’s fear had deserted him, and he was left with anger at this man who was deciding his fate on nonexistent evidence and a need to convict Iain in order to grab for more power.

  “I find you guilty of the murder of Lieutenant Donaldson,” Rutherford said. “The punishment is death by hanging.”

  Iain reared back and Palmer yelled, “What the bloody hell?”

  Rutherford turned his attention to Palmer. “Do you disagree with me, Captain?”

  Palmer must have detected the warning note in Rutherford’s tone and he backed down. “No, sir.”

  “You will be hanged in the morning, Campbell.” He dismissed them by sitting down and picking up some papers.

  “Is there an appeal process?” Iain asked, his voice strangled. He couldn’t believe that this was it, that he’d been convicted on the word of one English lieutenant.

  “No,” Rutherford said. “I am in charge here while Cumberland is gone. What I say goes.”

  “That hardly seems like proper procedure,” Iain said, trying to calm his racing heart.

  Rutherford looked up at him. “And you are well versed in the proper procedure of a military hearing?”

  “I am versed enough in English law—”

  “But not in military law.”

  “I’m a Scottish citizen, not an English soldier.”

  Rutherford tilted his head. “Tell me, Lord Kerr, are you a Scottish citizen or an English citizen? Just a moment ago you tried to convince me you were more English than Scottish.” He leaned back and steepled his fingers. “It seems to me that your loyalties lay whichever way the wind blows for you. I’ve heard that about you Campbells. Always swaying to whatever side will benefit you the most.”

  Iain’s jaw tightened, and only good sense kept him from lunging across the desk at Rutherford. “I am a Scottish citizen, but my grandmother was English, and I hold an English title as well as a Scottish title. Hanging a person of English nobility will not win you any allies, Colonel Rutherford.”

  Rutherford raised his brows. “Are you threatening me, Lord Campbell?” He turned to Palmer. “Did you hear him threaten me, Captain Palmer?”

  Palmer hesitated. If he agreed with Rutherford, that would put Iain in even more jeopardy. To agree with Iain would put Palmer in even more jeopardy.

  “No threat,” Iain said. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

  Rutherford lowered his hands and contemplated Iain for a long while. “There have been plenty of English aristocrats who have been found guilty of heinous crimes such as yours. You’re not even a full-blooded Englishman but a mixed breed of English and Scots. You’re a mongrel, Campbell, and I don’t think your death will be the talk of the town that you suspect it will be. Believe me, hardly anyone will notice.”

  Inwardly, Iain winced at the blow meant for his pride. He’d roundly lost that battle and, apparently, his life.

  Rutherford stood and straightened his cuffs. “I will accompany you, Palmer, to be certain that Campbell makes it back to his cell. It wouldn’t do to lose him, now, would it?”

  Palmer and Iain exchanged a look of disbelief. “If you think I would allow him to escape—” Palmer started.

  “Of course not,” Rutherford interrupted. He motioned for Iain to proceed out the door first. Palmer followed and Rutherford came from behind. They walked silently down the steps and out into the sunshine. It seemed odd to Iain that the sun should be shining. He was going to die on the morrow. Rutherford was making sure it would happen before Cumberland returned. The man was heartless and cruel.

  Iain’s feet were heavy as he walked toward the building housing the prison cells. More than likely, this would be the last time he saw the sun shine or the bright blue of a Scottish summer day.

  And what of Cait?

  Good Lord, what of Cait?

  He’d promised her a lifetime, had convinced her to take a chance on him. He’d told her that life was worth living only if she gave it a chance. She’d given him her heart and trusted that he would be by her side for a long, long time. Now it seemed they’d had only those moments and nothin
g more.

  He wanted to see her one more time. He’d asked her to call in Sutherland and MacLean, but even if they arrived before tomorrow morning—which he doubted—there was nothing they could do to save him.

  Help him escape?

  And then what?

  He’d have to go to Canada, like all the others Sutherland whisked out of the country. Either that or be hunted the rest of his life. Hell, he couldn’t even go to England.

  Good God, but he wanted to see Cait one more time to tell her that he loved her and not to give up on life.

  And then, suddenly, she was there, walking toward him. He had to shake his head because he was certain that his mind had conjured up her image, but no, there she was, picking up her skirts and running toward him. Sutherland was behind her, and then came MacLean, Rory Graham, and Tavis MacGregor.

  “Iain!” she shouted.

  He stopped, disbelief and grief and joy making it impossible to move another step. Palmer stepped up beside him, and Rutherford muttered, “What the hell is this?”

  Cait threw her arms around Iain, making him stumble back a few steps.

  “Here, now!” Rutherford exclaimed, but no one seemed to pay him any mind.

  Iain looked over Cait’s shoulder to Sutherland and MacLean. They both nodded at him.

  “Ye’re hurt,” she said as she ran her hands over his face.

  “I’m fine,” he said. She touched his various cuts while he studied her bruises; they had darkened to purple, blue, and red. “How are you?” he asked.

  “Worried sick about ye. I brought Sutherland and MacLean. Graham and MacGregor sent men to help, but we didn’t bring them into the fort.”

  Iain raised a brow. “I’m impressed that Graham and MacGregor wanted to help.”

  She grinned. “They put aside their differences for a few days. Oh, Iain, I’ve been so worried. I thought for sure I’d find ye…” She shook her head. “Never mind. We’ll get ye out of here soon. Surely they’ll see the mistake they made.”

  Iain glanced at Rutherford, who was watching the exchange with barely veiled fury. Iain drew Cait away, not out of earshot, because that would have been impossible. He cupped her face between his hands and winced at his broken finger.

  “Ye’re hurt worse than I thought. Where?” she asked.

  “Just a broken finger, that’s all. Cait, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  She looked up at him, her green eyes so damn beautiful. He soaked her in, trying to remember it all—the way the sun glinted off her fiery hair, the pale creaminess of her skin, the warmth of her breath.

  “Remember the discussion we had about not hiding from life? I want you to remember that. I don’t want you to hide any longer. For me, Cait. Do it for me.”

  Chapter 33

  Cait wrenched away from his grasp. “No,” she whispered. Then, louder, “No!”

  She understood with sickening clarity what he was trying to tell her. They’d already tried him and found him guilty, and she and Iain were never going to have the life he’d promised her. She glanced at the unknown soldier beside him and instinctively knew that he’d been the one to condemn Iain to death. He was watching her with a cold gaze.

  “We haven’t much time,” Iain implored. “We need to speak quickly. They’ve found me guilty of killing Donaldson but—”

  “This is wrong,” she muttered.

  He grabbed her hands to keep her from backing away farther. “Listen to me,” he said with urgency. “They want to blame me for the other murders. I’m afraid they will after I’m…after my…”

  She shook her head. “Don’t even say it. That’s no’ what’s going to happen. I’ve brought Sutherland and MacLean. Graham and MacGregor said they would help. They’ll send more men if we need them.”

  “It’s too late for that. I’m to be hanged tomorrow.”

  She wrenched her hands from his and spun around. Iain lunged for her, but she grabbed the lapels of the unknown officer’s red coat and shook him.

  “Now see here!” the man exclaimed in shock, attempting to step back.

  “No, you see here. Iain Campbell did no’ kill Donaldson. I did.”

  “Cait, no.” Iain pulled on her from behind, but she shook him off. “Stop it, Cait.”

  “I killed Donaldson. He came for me in my cottage, and I ran. He chased me into the woods and beat me.” She pointed to her face, keeping a tight hold on the officer’s coat with her other hand. “Look at my face. Your soldier did that to me. He beat me and told me he was going to kill me. He dragged me around by my hair, and it was terrifying. But I found a large stick, and I hit him on the head, and when he fell I hit him again. He died by my hands, no’ by Iain Campbell’s hands.”

  She took a shuddering breath but didn’t release him. He stared down at her in shock. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, madam,” he said. “Donaldson was found on the side of the road with his throat slit and stab wounds about his body.”

  Cait released him and stepped back, her breath leaving her. “Nay. I killed him. I know I did. He was dead when I left him there.”

  “Did you stab him and cut his throat?”

  “I hit him over the head with a tree branch.” It was as if the anger had consumed everything left inside of her. She was a battered husk with barely enough strength to keep standing. She turned to Iain. “He’s lying. He’s trying to blame ye for something ye didn’t do. I killed Donaldson by hitting him over the head. I had no knife to slit his throat nor the constitution to do such a thing.”

  “Because Campbell did it,” the man said. “Campbell found him and killed him. He already admitted as much. He’s also suspected of killing the other English soldiers.”

  “Nay,” she whispered. “He’d never do such a thing. It was me. I killed Donaldson.”

  “Stop it,” Iain hissed behind her.

  She looked at Iain in sadness. They were never meant to be, the two of them together. It had been a far-fetched dream. “It’s far better they know the truth. I will die for it if I have to, but it’s better that ye live and I die. Scotland needs ye.”

  Iain groaned and his shoulders slumped forward. “Don’t do this. Please.”

  “I would do anything for ye.”

  “Even admit to something you did not do?” the soldier asked.

  She eyed the man in disdain. “I would never allow him to take the blame for something I did. I don’t know who told ye that Donaldson was found on the road, but he wasn’t. He died in the middle of the forest by my hand.”

  “But he was found on the side of the road,” Palmer said. “My men found him there with his throat cut and stab wounds about him.”

  Cait looked at Palmer in surprise. “That’s impossible.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t dead after you hit him,” Palmer said.

  “I’ve seen enough dead people to know if one is dead or not. He was dead,” she said with a conviction she didn’t feel, because to portray otherwise would seal Iain’s fate. “I know it.”

  “No,” Palmer said with regret. “He wasn’t.”

  “I killed him.”

  Cait swung around to see who had said that. Rory stepped forward, looking scared and pale but standing his ground. “I found Cait after Donaldson beat her, and when she told me where she had left Donaldson, I searched for him to bury his body, but he wasn’t where she’d said she’d left him. I found him wandering down the road. His head was bleeding, and he was talking nonsense and could barely stand up. I slit his throat and stabbed him.”

  “Ah, lad,” Iain said on a breath.

  Rory squared up against the officer. “I killed the others, too.”

  “Rory, no!” Cait cried out.

  “Is that true, lad?” Iain asked.

  “Aye.”

  No. This couldn’t be happening. Rory hadn’t killed those men. He wasn’t capable of such a thing. Not Rory, who always had a smile for her and a ready laugh. Cait moved closer and put her palm against his rough cheek. He looked at her w
ith tears in his eyes.

  “I had to,” he said, sounding more like the little boy she knew than the man he had become. “They wouldn’t go away. They needed to go away. Scotland is ours, not theirs. And the things they were doing to our people. It’s not right, Cait.”

  “Killing them isn’t the answer,” Cait said. “Just like the English soldiers killing our people isn’t the answer. We all need to work together to find a solution.”

  One of Rory’s tears rolled onto the back of her hand. “Forgive me,” he whispered.

  The officer stepped up next to him. “Rory Graham, you are under arrest for the death of five English soldiers, including Lieutenant Donaldson.”

  Rory nodded but didn’t take his gaze off Cait. “Tell Grandfather that I’m sorry.”

  “No,” she choked out.

  “Please, Cait. Tell him.”

  She nodded, unable to speak through such a tight throat. There were no words, anyway.

  Rory was stripped of his weapons, then Palmer and the officer walked him away, each holding one of his arms. Iain put his arm around Cait and hugged her to his side.

  —

  They spent the night at a local inn because none of them wanted to leave Rory, even though there was no hope for him. He was too well guarded, according to Palmer, who wouldn’t agree to help break him out of prison but was supplying necessary information. Rory was all alone and heavily guarded.

  Cait tended to Iain’s wounds, setting his broken finger and cleaning his various scrapes and cuts. “We’re a matching pair,” she said.

  He huffed out a laugh, then grimaced when it pulled on his split lip. “Come here, mo gradh.” He pulled her toward him and wrapped his arms around her. They remained that way, he sitting, his arms around her waist, while she ran her hands through his hair.

  “I missed ye,” she said. “Don’t ever go and do such a thing again.”

  “When I was sentenced, all I could think about was you and how I’d let you down after I convinced you to start living again and how horrible it was that we were going to be separated forever.”

  She drew in a deep breath, overcome by the despair in his voice.