by Amy Jarecki
Meg speared a tidbit of venison with her eating knife. “I do believe we shall have a festive Yule this year. I can hardly wait to green the castle.”
Duncan blessed the day he’d rescued Meg from the clutches the Earl of Northumberland a hundred times over. If he hadn’t been the man in charge of the mission to infiltrate Alnwick Castle, he may have never met the fiery, redheaded lass. He grinned at their progeny sitting across the table—at the age of seven, the twins Colin and Elizabeth both sported their mother’s ginger hair. Archibald, seated beside his sister, was blessed with Duncan’s black locks. He grinned at the likeness. Black tresses had served him well—made him look fiercer—a characteristic useful for a land baron in the Highlands.
Duncan tucked an errant curl under his wife’s veil. “Mayhap in a few years’ time you’ll be greening our new castle on Loch Tay.”
Her eyes popped wide. “Pardon me?”
Duncan had only decided it was time to build during his tour with the king. He hadn’t had a chance to discuss it with his wife as of yet. “The king has seen fit to grant me lands, I’d best build suitable accommodations for our visits.”
Lady Margaret sat straight, looking directly at him with alarm etched in the lines of her careworn face. “But Kilchurn is the seat of the Campbells of Glenorchy.”
Duncan had expected his stepmother’s initial shock. “Of course it is mother, but with more lands comes added responsibility. My cousin, the Earl of Argyll, has three castles, and my father, your husband, was responsible for building one of them.”
She pursed her lips. “As long as the family seat remains in Glen Orchy, I have no qualms against your expanding the family dynasty.”
He patted her hand. “I knew your enterprising spirit would see reason.” He held up his tankard. “Now shall we all drink to our growing success?”
Meg smiled broadly and raised her drink. “Sláinte!”
Everyone followed suit, even Archibald at the tender age of four.
A commotion erupted at the far end of the hall and a man’s voice rose above the throng. Duncan pushed back his chair and stood.
“I care not if a feast is underway, I shall gain an audience with Lord Glenorchy now!” Aleck MacIain pushed his way through the crowd.
Duncan moved to the front of the dais and met Aleck at the steps. “MacIain? What on earth are you doing away from your family on St. Crispin’s? You should be home celebrating your grant of lands.”
“Aye? I’ve no family with whom to celebrate.” Aleck held up a missive. “I was met by one of your brother’s monks and given this.”
When MacIain shoved the parchment into his chest, Duncan had no recourse but to grasp it. He glanced back at his family. “I shall be but a moment, please excuse me.”
He ushered the uncouth chieftain to the small antechamber at the back of the hall. Once inside, he examined the broken seal. “This is from His Holiness, the Pope.”
“Bloody oath it is, and your sister conspired with your brother—His Worship, the venerated Bishop of the Isles, no less—to destroy my marriage.”
Duncan opened the letter and read. A tight ball formed in his chest. “This accuses you of beating your wife, as reported witnessed by bruising noted on her person on more than one occasion.”
The chieftain’s face flushed red. “I assure you, any disciplinary action taken by me was necessary to maintain order in my household.”
“Helen?” Duncan stared at the cad, completely dumbfounded. “You mean to tell me you had to resort to force to control my most good-natured sister?”
“She turned bad, m’lord.” MacIain shot a quick glance to the closed door. “Is she not here? I should like to take her home forthwith.”
“Lady Helen is not at Kilchurn, nor has she been.” Duncan folded the missive and faced the hearth. Did she and John truly contrive this scheme together? It isn’t like my brother to do anything untoward—or Helen for that matter. Does her claim have merits? If so, why did she not approach me? I am the Lord of Glenorchy, surely she would know I would protect her if she had a founded claim. A piece of lead sank to the pit of Duncan’s stomach. Her fears must be grave if they took this matter all the way to Rome.
Duncan glanced over his shoulder and regarded MacIain. The man has a mean streak, no doubt. But abuse his wife? Surely he would know raising a hand against Helen would put a grave strain on our alliance. An annulment granted by the Pope? Why in God’s name was I not consulted?
Duncan needed to dig to the bottom of this quandary. He faced the Ardnamurchan chieftain. “Your news is disturbing indeed. I shall take immediate steps to seek a resolution and inform you of my findings. Please, ’tis St. Crispin’s Day. Sit at the high table and enjoy the feast. On the morrow, you can return to Ardnamurchan.”
The man’s face grew even redder. “Do you think I’m planning to tuck my tail and head back to Mingary on the morrow?”
After folding the velum, Duncan slipped it inside his doublet. “I suggest that’s exactly what you should do. Dealings with my family are best left in my hands.”
The bald-headed chieftain moved his fists to his hips, forgetting who was lord of this castle. “Are you planning to pay a visit to the Bishop of the Isles? Because he’s next on my list, and I’ll not be as pleasant with him.”
Every bit as tall as the over-stuffed codfish, Duncan stared him in the eye, nose to nose. “Are you threatening to raise a hand against my brother, His Worship, the most revered holy man in the Highlands?”
Aleck’s tongue shot across his bottom lip. “He secretly obtained an annulment for your sister under false pretenses.”
The more I think on it, the more I doubt Helen’s claims are unfounded.
“I will uncover the truth.” Duncan pointed to the door. “I suggest you do as I say and find a place in the hall. Your accusations against my family are not taken lightly and will not be treated as such if I discover the assertions in that missive are true.”
Aleck narrowed his steely eyes for a moment, and then held his palms up. That he’d just exercised restraint was obvious. Had he lashed out, it would have been the action Duncan needed to take the man to his knees. But five years ago, he’d made an alliance with MacIain, and that pact had proved fruitful in bringing the MacDonald uprising to an end. This situation with Helen needed to be investigated before relations grew worse.
Duncan bowed and gestured to the door. “If you please.”
He waited until MacIain had made his way to the dais. God bless Meg, she welcomed the bastard with outstretched arms and summoned the servants to tend him at once. Duncan gestured to Mevan, the old man-at-arms who had been loyal to the Campbells since the early days. “Ride to Glen Strae and fetch Eoin MacGregor at once. Tell him his presence is needed urgently.”
“Straight away, m’lord.”
“We’ll leave for Dunollie at dawn. I shall have a word with Lady Gyllis before proceeding on to Iona. Perhaps she’s seen Lady Helen”
***
Duncan rose early and gathered his retinue by the stables. God’s teeth, there wasn’t a bloody MacGregor man in sight, yet the Kilchurn man-at-arms sat on a barrel and watched the men ready their horses. “Mevan, where the blazes is Eoin?”
“He’s not in Glen Strae, m’lord.”
What more would go wrong with this unsettling news? “Are you sure? He left Oronsay before any of us.”
“Aye, but he moored his galley at Taynult and sent his men home—they said he took a horse and headed south.”
“God on the cross, what business did he have south?”
Mevan looked like he’d swallowed a bitter tonic. “I-I didn’t ask.”
“Never mind. When he returns, tell him I’ve gone to Dunollie and then to Iona. I need his help in locating Lady Helen. MacGregor has the sharpest nose for tracking in all of Scotland.”
The old man-at-arms always remained behind to take charge of the castle guard in Duncan’s absence. “I will, m’lord.”
Duncan gr
abbed his horse’s reins and mounted. “Come lads, we’ve no time to waste.”
He led them through the yard to the main trail that would take them twenty miles to the west coast.
They’d been moving a steady trot for a good while when Aleck MacIain and his men galloped up behind them. “I had a change of mind this morn.”
Duncan urged his horse a bit faster. “I thought I told you to return to Mingary.”
The bastard kept pace like a pesky fly. “You did, but my galley is moored at Dunstaffnage.”
“Very well, we’ll part ways at the V in the road.”
“Why are you so anxious to be rid of me?” Aleck growled, far too disrespectful for a chieftain who was not a peer.
“Must I remind you of your station? I will take pause with your tone, make no bones about it.” He glanced at MacIain out of the corner of his eye. “I will speak to my siblings alone. If you are present with that beef-headed demeanor, they may not be inclined to speak frankly.”
The man blubbered a guffaw. “You don’t even trust your own kin?”
“’Tis not my kin that concerns me.”
Aleck thumped his chest. “So it’s me you do not trust?”
“Bloody hell, MacIain. Must everything be a battle with you? You came to me and requested my help.” Duncan pointed his gloved finger to the trail ahead. “At your request, I’ve spurred into action without hesitation. All I ask is that you allow me to discuss Lady Helen’s disappearance with Lady Gyllis and the Bishop of the Isles my way.”
The chieftain jumped his horse over a fallen log. “If you wish me to stay away whilst you speak to your kin, I’ll grant you that. But I will not tuck tail and head for home. Helen took my daughter as well.”
Duncan growled under his breath. The missive from the Pope indicated one of the criteria for granting the annulment was that Aleck refused to acknowledge the child, Margaret Alice MacIain as his only heir. But thinking of the bairn gave him an idea. He shot a sideways glance at MacIain. “What’s her second name?”
“Helen Flora,” Aleck said with overzealous annoyance in his tone.
“No, I was referring to your bairn, Margaret. What’s her second name?” Duncan asked again.
“Helen calls her Maggie.”
Wrong. Duncan tightened his fist around the reins. He would dig to the bottom of this.
***
About two miles out from Dunollie, Duncan and his men, including the uninvited band of MacIain upstarts, came across the MacDougall patrol. Duncan reined his horse to a stop and addressed Sir Sean’s man, Angus. “Good morrow. I hope all is quiet on Dunollie lands this day.”
“Good morrow, m’lord.” Sitting his horse, Angus dipped his helmed head. “Things are quiet, indeed. In fact, we’ve had almost no problem with outlaws since Sir Sean stopped Alan MacCoul near five year’ ago.”
“’Tis good to hear. I need a word with my sister. Is she at home?”
Angus threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the castle. “Aye, about to bid good day to the bishop—your brother.”
Duncan shot a startled glance at MacIain.
The man certainly wasn’t deaf. Aleck gathered up his reins. “We’d best make haste.” He dug in his heels, but then pulled the horse to a stop. He leaned over the gelding’s neck and eyed the soldier at the rear of the retinue.
Duncan followed Aleck’s line of sight. The man kept his face averted.
Aleck grabbed a poleax from one of the guards and rode straight toward the man. “Well, well. Hello, Mr. Keith. I thought I might find you here.”
Before Duncan had time to react, Aleck slammed the guard in the chest with the shaft of the poleax. The force lifted the guard from his saddle and sent him crashing to the ground flat on his back.
Drawing his sword, Duncan dismounted. Horses skittered aside as he dashed to the fallen guard.
Moving fast for a large man, Aleck hopped from his mount. Baring his teeth, he crouched over the guard, levering a dirk against his neck. “Where is my wife, you mule-brained backstabber?”
The guard clutched at his chest, gasping for air.
The back of Duncan’s neck burned. “How do you know this man?”
“He’s the very guard who helped Helen escape.” Aleck sneered. “Keith’s his name.”
The chieftain used that escape word again. Duncan bristled.
Aleck fisted the hilt of his dirk and struck the guard across the mouth. “I can see it in your eyes. You know where she is.”
Mr. Keith continued to gasp. Aleck hit him again. When he drew his fist back for another blow, Duncan caught MacIain’s elbow. “Can you not see he’s lost his air from the fall?”
“He’s a traitor and a backstabber.”
“Yet you said yourself he knows where Lady Helen is.” Duncan shoved Aleck aside and kneeled beside the guard. “Are you in my sister’s confidence?”
His gasps becoming slower, the man held Duncan’s gaze and gave a single nod.
Shoving Duncan aside, Aleck jumped atop the guard. With a snarl, he again held his blade to Keith’s neck. “I’ll not ask you again. Where is Lady Helen?”
The guard’s eyes shifted east to the forest.
Aleck looked toward the trees, then smirked. “MacDougall’s hunting cottage? I should have known.” Growling, the chieftain took one last swing at Mr. Keith’s head, leaving a welt spreading under his eyes.
Duncan knew the cottage well. Worse, last summer a hunting party camped there with MacIain. Ballocks.
Aleck hastened to his horse and mounted. “This way, men.”
Duncan had no recourse but to follow. He pointed at Angus. “Ride to Dunollie and tell Sir Sean to meet us at the cottage straight away.”
Duncan spurred his mount ahead. If MacIain unleashed his violent temper on his sister, she’d not survive to reveal the truth.
Chapter Thirty
Gyllis was ever so happy to have her husband at home. Yesterday, her brother, John, had come to celebrate the holiday feast with them, and now the family sat upon the dais for their nooning before John returned to Iona.
Sean MacDougall and John had been boyhood friends and they had served together with the Highland Enforcers. The retinue had originally been established by Gyllis’s father, Colin Campbell by order of King James III to maintain order in the Scottish Highlands. Now the enforcers had a new leader and Scotland had a new king. Such was the succession. As far as Gyllis knew, bringing peace to the Highlands was still their primary responsibility, though the king used them when necessary to help maintain order along the borders as well.
Half the time, Gyllis had no idea where her husband was, but today she didn’t want to think about that. Two of her favorite men were seated at the high table in Dunollie’s great hall. Sean, dressed in plaid with a black leather doublet, looked like a powerful land-owning chieftain and John appeared so incredibly official in his purple damask chasuble. Gyllis was proud of her brother’s achievements after he’d left the enforcers to join the priesthood. A second son, he had become a powerful man in his own right—The Bishop of the Isles.
“How was your visit to Rome?” Sean asked.
John dabbed the corners of his lips with his fingers—ever so proper of him. “The channel crossing was smooth, thank the good Lord. As usual, however, there was no time to venture outside the Vatican.”
“And what news have you from His Holiness?” Gyllis asked.
“A great concern consumed most of our time.” John glanced between them. “Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain commissioned a rather mysterious character, Christopher Columbus, to undertake a seafaring venture to discover worlds not following our Lord, Jesus Christ.”
“New worlds?” Sean’s eyes lit up. “I thought we’d discovered all the land our world has to offer.”
“As did all of Christendom, but the captain returned with the most disturbing information.”
“Truly?” Sean broke his bread and spread cream over one half. “Tell us.”
&
nbsp; “The peoples he discovered were reported as going unclothed and the Christian religion is completely unknown to them.”
Gyllis reached for the remaining half of bread. “But is it not our duty to deliver the word of God to those who have not yet been saved?”
“Yes, and that is exactly what the Pope Alexander communicated to Spain in a rather pointed letter.”
Both Gyllis and Sean looked at the bishop expectantly.
Pursing his lips, John assumed the stern countenance one would associate with his position. “Under penalty of excommunication, all persons in Christendom are forbidden to trade with these uncharted worlds, lest they be struck down by the wrath of God. Only missionaries of the faith will be allowed entry with the sole purpose of bringing the Catholic religion to their inhabitants.”
Gyllis studied her brother and covered her smile with the tips of her fingers. “And clothing, I’d surmise.”
John gave her a sober nod. “Most definitely.”
Goodness, when did my brother become so inordinately serious?
Sean reached for the pitcher of ale. “What else can you tell us about these new lands? Run by naked savages? How will they know how to use their God-given resources?”
John held up a finger. “Let there be no question. His Holiness has decreed that any trade—including resource exploitation with heathen nations will be dealt with severely.”
“But why?” Sean asked. “Wouldn’t it be a way for good men, perhaps second sons like yourself, to gain lands and riches?”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you utter such blasphemy. The souls of the savages you referred to are of paramount importance.” John turned to Gyllis and cleared his throat. “Now, we’ve more important things to discuss. You haven’t said a word about Helen. How is our sister faring?”
