Chapter 6 #2
Duncan gave him a hard glare, forgiving his cousin for the slight only because he knew of the treacherous circumstances in which Archie had recently found himself, at the center of an assassination attempt by men he’d trusted.
Duncan knew how the betrayal still ate at him—and probably always would. “You should know me better than that.”
Argyll didn’t answer right away. “There is no one I trust more, but there is no one I trust completely.” The look in his eye was one of bitter melancholy. “It is a lesson you should take to heart, cousin. It might save you from making a painful mistake.”
Watching Duncan ride away, when every instinct clamored to stop him, was one of the most difficult things Jeannie had ever had to do.
When her mother had left, it had been in the dead of night. Jeannie never had the chance to stop her. To beg her not to leave. To tell her that if she left she would never come back.
If only Jeannie had been older, she might have realized what was going on. She might have been able to stop her.
But she was old enough now. Standing at the window in her tower chamber, watching as the last of the Campbell soldiers and the bold yellow standard of the Earl of Argyll faded from view, she clenched a damp, lace trimmed square of linen in her hand.
It will be all right, she told herself.
Duncan is not my mother. He will return in a few days and we will be married.
Nothing will go wrong. Even her father had agreed to side with Argyll and the king. To go against Huntly, his lord, her father must be certain of a victory.
Tucking the cloth in the sleeve of the embroidered green silk doublet she wore over her French gown, Jeannie sighed and started to turn from the window, stopping when something caught her gaze.
A movement in the copse of trees north of the castle.
A rider emerged, almost as if he’d been waiting for the last of the Campbells to leave, and rode hard across the moors, up the small rise, and under the iron castle yett.
She wrinkled her nose, thinking it strange, but giving no more thought than that.
After washing the sadness from her eyes with some water she’d poured into a basin, Jeannie emerged from her chamber refreshed to head downstairs.
Her father and his men would be leaving soon to join the others at Drumin Castle and she must see to the preparations.
Father …
She forced herself not to think about it. He would come back. He always came back.
She crossed the hall, teaming with servants still busy cleaning the mess from the celebration the night before, and stopped outside the door to the laird’s solar.
It was partially open and she could see a man standing before her father.
Tall and broad shouldered, if a bit gangly, he looked vaguely familiar.
It took her only a moment to realize he was the rider she’d seen emerge from the trees a short while ago.
But the quality of his clothing and the costly mail coat were far too fine to be that of a messenger.
She raised her hand to knock, hesitating. The rider had turned slightly and removed his steel bonnet, revealing thick waves of golden blond hair damp with sweat. Jeannie smothered a gasp with her hand.
She recognized him. Francis Gordon, the Earl of Huntly’s second son.
They’d met a few times over the years before the feuding had begun.
She’d thought him handsome, in the way that a young girl fancies a lad half-a-dozen years older.
Now, compared to Duncan’s dark masculine beauty, he seemed almost pretty.
But Francis had always been kind to her, making it a point to smile and wink when he caught her staring at him.
Her heart pounded. What could he be doing here? Looking around furtively, seeing that no one was paying attention to her, impulsively she slipped into the shadows behind the door.
“You took a risk,” she heard her father say. “What if someone had seen you?”
“I was careful,” Francis said, his tone dismissive.
“You came alone?”
“I thought it best. My men are waiting for me in the forest.”
“Aye, the fewer people who know the better. I don’t want to take a chance of Argyll or the king getting word before it is done.”
Before what is done? Jeannie feared that she didn’t want to know. Francis Gordon’s presence did not augur well.
“So we are agreed,” Francis said. “You will wait for our signal. When the first cannon shot is fired, you and your men will retreat.”
Huntly had cannon? Dear God.
She waited for her father to deny the treachery, but was to be disappointed.
“Aye.” Her heart sank. “A War Council will be held at Drumin tonight. Argyll is eager to battle. I’ll see what I can do to encourage him and send word when I can about the battle plan.
” Jeannie sagged against the cold stone wall, not wanting to believe what she was hearing—her father intended to join the Gordons and betray the Campbells.
She listened in a daze as they discussed more details of the battle, including Huntly’s intention to move on the much larger force. A move that was sure to enrage Argyll. It wasn’t until her name was mentioned that she snapped out of her horrified stupor.
“And the lass is amenable to the arrangement?” Francis urged.
Her father hesitated. “Jean is a good girl, she will do her duty.”
Francis’s voice sharpened. “You mean you haven’t told her yet.”
“I thought it better to wait. I didn’t want to risk an accidental slip of the tongue.”
Jeannie frowned at the implication. She could keep a secret.
“I’ll not take an unwilling wife—betrothal or not.”
Wife? The blood drained from her face and her heart jolted to an abrupt stop. Her father had betrothed her not to Colin Campbell, but to Huntly’s son?
Her father started to offer him assurances, but Jeannie had heard enough. She slipped out from behind the door and moved into the hall, too stunned to think clearly.
Her mind raced, thousands of possibilities converging in the realization that she couldn’t let this happen. Her father’s betrayal of the Campbells would forever doom her future with Duncan. Worse, her father’s retreat would put the Campbell forces at grave risk. Men would die.
Duncan could die.
She bided her time, knowing what she had to do. When she saw Francis Gordon slip out of the laird’s solar, she took a deep breath and walked into the room he’d just departed.
Seated in a large chair opposite the cold fireplace, her father appeared to be in deep thought and didn’t notice her right away. She sniffed, smelling the strong peaty scent of uisge-beatha. Sure enough, he held a half-filled glass in his hand.
It gave her hope. Perhaps, there was a chance. Perhaps, betraying the king and the Campbells did not sit as easily with him as he wanted Francis Gordon to think.
“Father.”
He looked up sharply, startled to see her.
“What is it, Jeannie lass? I’m busy.”
She wanted to present a carefully reasoned argument about why he should not go through with it, but her emotions got the better of her.
She gazed entreatingly at the man she’d always thought a noble knight.
At the familiar dark hair dusted with gray, at the green eyes so like her own, at the well-worn, handsome face, and simply blurted, “What you are planning … you can’t do this. ”
His eyes scanned her pale face, then narrowed. “Listening at doors, daughter? Aren’t you too old for that? Spies are tossed in the dungeon.”
Jeannie ignored his anger, rushed toward him, and fell to her knees before him, taking his hand in hers. “Oh, father, I’m so scared. What of the king? He will be furious with you.”
“Hush, lass. You don’t know of what you speak. The king isn’t eager to destroy Huntly, no matter what the Kirk would like. It’s Argyll at the head of this war and I’ll take my chances with Huntly over an untried youth.”
“But men will be killed.”
“It’s war, Jeannie. Killing is to be expected.” He waved her away, clearly preoccupied and in no mood to appease his daughter. “Return to your chamber. This has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me!” she protested. “I will not marry Francis Gordon. I don’t love him.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
“Love?” her father shouted scornfully, the years of bitterness at her mother’s betrayal erupting in an angry storm.
“Love has nothing to do with marriage. This alliance will bind our clans together and end the feuding. You will have more wealth than you can imagine. Enough of this sniveling about love. The contracts have been signed and I expect you to do your duty as you’ve been raised to do. ”
Jeannie shook her head, never had she heard her father sound so unfeeling. “I can’t.” She bit her lip, knowing this was the worst possible time in which to reveal her love for Duncan, but she had no choice. Otherwise it could be too late. “I”—her voice broke—“I love another.”
Her father snatched his hand away from hers and peered down at her coldly. “Who?”
“The Laird of Auchinbreck’s eldest son.”
“Colin Campbell?”
She shook her head. It took him a moment to figure out what she meant.
“Duncan Dubh, the bastard?” he asked, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”
Jeannie lifted her chin. “The manner of his birth is of no import—”
“It’s of every importance,” he shouted, standing and lifting her harshly to her feet.
His fingers dug into her arms as he shook her.
“You’re a fool if you think I would ever agree to such an arrangement.
” His face was livid with rage. “I expected more of you.” The disappointment in his voice cut her to the quick. “You are so like your mother.”
He said it as if there could be no worse comparison. Yes, her mother had made mistakes—but she wasn’t all bad … was she?
He was studying her face too intently. “Just what have you done?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.
Jeannie shrank back. “N-nothing,” she lied.