Chapter Nineteen #2
It didn’t take long to write a cryptic note.
Once decoded, the earl would know Hugh intended to ensure Roisin arrived safely at his manor the following day, by traveling through a particular glen with a distinctive double waterfall.
He’d also understand that Alan MacGregor’s half-brother was still alive and posed a deadly threat not only to William, but also to his lady wife’s kin.
Hugh knew he wouldn’t receive any confirmation from the earl. There wasn’t enough time. He had less than one day left with Roisin, and then he would take her to the earl’s manor.
Their final goodbye.
And then what? Darragh would surely guess he’d helped her escape. He’d think of something. He couldn’t worry about that now.
Grimly, he once again left the town and after following the road for a while, headed to the nearby woods where he’d be less likely to meet any fellow traveler. But as he approached, a shadow emerged from the trees.
Fergus MacGregor.
Hugh pulled up, senses on alert. Was this where he was to be ambushed? Although he kept his gaze on Fergus, he couldn’t detect any movement in his peripheral vision that suggested Darragh was waiting to pounce.
But that didn’t mean the chieftain wasn’t lurking behind a tree.
“Fergus.” He kept his voice neutral. “I thought ye would be well on yer way by now.”
“I wanted a word.” Fergus folded his forearms across the pommel, his gaze never leaving Hugh’s. “Darragh trusts ye, but I have my doubts.”
He had severe doubts that Darragh trusted him as far as he could throw him, but he wasn’t about to tell Fergus that. Although it was strange Fergus had that impression of the chieftain, since Darragh had only ever tolerated Hugh’s presence in the camp, and nothing more.
He wasn’t going to dignify Fergus’s remark with a response, and so he waited. After a tense silence, the other man continued. “I ask myself, how far will a man like ye go to keep a noblewoman such as Lady Roisin safe and by yer side?”
It always came back to Roisin’s safety. And he didn’t need Fergus to tell him that once they reached his camp, her safety would be a precarious thing, subject to the vindictive will of Fergus himself.
Maybe it was foolhardy to show his hand, but he wouldn’t let the other man be under any illusion that Hugh would stand idly by and allow Roisin to be mistreated. “I’ll go as far as I need to. Always.”
“Aye.” There was no surprise in Fergus’s tone. “That’s what I thought. Darragh thinks ye acted out of a sense of loyalty, but I don’t believe that. Ye did what ye did because ye don’t want to give up a warm body in yer bed.”
Fergus’s odd comment was swept to the wayside as rage washed through him at the other man’s disrespect regarding Roisin. “Watch yer mouth. Lady Roisin does not share my bed.”
That was true enough, but the accusation bit deep. Aye, he desperately wanted Roisin to share his bed every night and the knowledge she never would was a stark reality he couldn’t deny. But it was more than that.
It didn’t matter how willing she had been in his arms. He had taken her maidenhead when he’d had no right. And while he would live with that bittersweet knowledge for the rest of his life, he couldn’t stomach the thought that anyone might speculate and denigrate her honor.
“Sure, she doesn’t.” Fergus sounded sardonic. “Not through lack of trying on yer part, I’m certain. But ’tis irrelevant. Ye didn’t send her letter to her kin for yer own purposes, not because ye have any sense of loyalty to Darragh.”
Her letter.
Before he could stop himself, his fingers gripped the pouch where he’d hidden Roisin’s letter the other day. Goddamn it. He hadn’t imagined the feeling of being watched first thing this morning while he’d been in the river.
Fergus had been there and rifled through his belongings.
Why the hell hadn’t he checked his things more thoroughly? But he knew why. It was because the only possessions he valued were Roisin’s handkerchief and the portrait she had drawn of him. And Fergus hadn’t taken them, since they weren’t incriminatory.
God’s bones, no wonder Darragh had asked him if Creagdoun meant anything to him. It was because Fergus had shared Roisin’s letter with him, where she’d written Lady Isolde MacDonald, Creagdoun Castle on the envelope.
Heat scorched through him. He had betrayed her trust by not sending her letter.
But the thought of these MacGregors reading her private correspondence sickened him to his core.
The only shred of light was she’d respected his wish not to reveal specific details or disclose who had saved her from the bandits.
If she hadn’t, he had no doubt he’d be dead in a ditch by now.
“It wasn’t loyalty to Darragh that stayed yer hand,” Fergus said, obviously determined to get an admission of guilt from him. “Isn’t that right?”
“Aye.” There was no point denying it, because one thing had become crystal clear.
Fergus was on a mission, and he wouldn’t patiently wait for Darragh to arrive in due course.
Hugh could see the cold determination to exact vengeance lurking in his eyes, and as soon as Fergus had gathered a band of loyalists, he’d return to Darragh and personally escort Roisin to his camp without delay.
Hugh couldn’t allow Fergus to leave these woods.
He drew his sword at the exact same moment as Fergus, which merely confirmed his suspicion that the other man had never intended him to leave the woods alive.
Steel clashed against steel, startling the woodland birds that abandoned the trees in a flurry of wing beats.
Fergus pressed forward, and Hugh parried his attack, as Fhortan skillfully sidestepped the other man’s mount despite being surrounded by trees.
Hugh’s heart pounded in his ears and lightning charged through his veins, the way it always did when he engaged in battle.
There was a wild gleam in Fergus’s eyes, and by God, he’d use that to his advantage.
If there was one thing he’d learned during his time as a redshank, it was to never lead with anger.
Fergus lunged, and Hugh instinctively ducked, the blade missing his throat by a hairsbreadth.
He instantly swung about, catching the other man’s sword arm, and Fergus bared his teeth.
“I know ye, Hugh Campbell. I couldn’t place ye until now.
Ye’re the earl of Argyll’s man. Ye’re the damn cousin of William Campbell. ”
Hugh didn’t bother wasting his breath by responding. There was no need. They both knew how this would end. If Fergus left this place alive, Roisin would die.
Fergus transferred his sword to his left hand, his right arm hanging uselessly by his side as blood dripped to the ground, and Hugh gave him no quarter. Before the other man could recalibrate his strategy, he swerved, catching Fergus off guard, and plunged his blade through his enemy’s heart.