Chapter 8 #3
His cousin looked up at him with a strange look on his face. “When did this arrive?”
Duncan did not shirk from the truth. “Last night.”
“After the council?”
“Aye.”
“I warned you to let nothing interfere with your duty to me. Perhaps you should have been focusing on the father rather than the daughter. Convincing Grant to join us was your responsibility.”
Duncan heard Colin’s sharp intake of breath when he understood the implication of Argyll’s words. Damn. He hadn’t wanted Colin to find out like this.
Shock registered on his brother’s features. “Jean Grant? You were with my betrothed last night?” he asked, accusation ringing in his voice.
“You are not betrothed. It is complicated, I will explain everything, I swear, but later.” He looked back to Argyll.
“My relationship with Grant’s daughter has nothing to do with this.
” His cousin’s criticism, however, was not as easily dismissed.
“Perhaps I should have anticipated treachery, but I am not the only one in this room who Grant fooled.” His father, Argyll, all of them had believed Grant’s anger against Huntly to be real.
“If you have something you wish to accuse me of, cousin, do it. Otherwise I shall go to see my father.” Who took a bullet intended for you. But he left that unsaid.
He waited and when his cousin said nothing, turned and left the room. Archie hadn’t accused him of anything, but neither had he defended him. With all that Duncan had been through today, the realization that his cousin could even remotely harbor suspicion toward him stung.
Could Argyll really think him capable of betrayal? Nay, it was only his frustration and anger talking. When his cousin calmed down, he would see the truth. Archie never apologized, but Duncan knew he would find a way to make amends.
For the next two days, Duncan kept a steady vigil at his father’s bedside, leaving only to wash the stains of battle from his weary body and make occasional use of the garderobe.
His father lay still and bloodless in the enormous bed, seeming to wither before his eyes. The bleeding had stopped, but he’d yet to regain consciousness. The healer warned that it was likely he never would. But Duncan wouldn’t leave his side in the oft chance that he did.
Jamie and Elizabeth had been sent for, but had yet to arrive.
Argyll and Colin were frequent visitors, but never stayed long and spoke little.
In Duncan’s absence, it seemed, Argyll had turned to Colin to attend him as they awaited King James’s arrival.
The king was enraged, both by Argyll’s precipitous attack and by Huntly’s treason.
Now he was on his way north with thousands of men, intending to bring Huntly to heel.
No mention was made of what had been said—or left unsaid—after the battle. But with MacLean’s return, rumors of Duncan’s valiant rescue of the Mackintoshes had spread, casting doubt on the suspicion toward him.
Or so he thought. Late in the afternoon of the third day, Colin burst into the chamber. “You have to leave,” he said, gasping for breath.
“Calm down, Colin. What’s wrong?”
“They found it.”
Duncan frowned. “Found what?”
“The gold.”
He laughed. “Well if they found gold, you can be sure it isn’t mine.”
“How can you make light of this? Don’t you see that they think you are guilty? You were angry after the council at not being given a command and with father for refusing your marriage. They think you conspired with Grant.”
Duncan wasn’t laughing any longer. “Who thinks this? Not Archie?”
Colin shook his head. “Nay, he defended you, but even he could say nothing when they found the bag of gold. Forty gold ducats are hard to explain.”
Duncan felt the first prickle of true alarm. ’Twas a small fortune. But it was not his. “There must be some mistake.”
“There is no mistake. They searched our tent and found it in the bag you attach to your saddle.”
Someone had put it there. Someone who wanted him to look guilty. Grant?
“Anyone could have put it there. Let them bring these spurious charges to my face.”
“With the king on his way the chiefs are out for blood. You will be arrested. You must go.”
Arrested? “I won’t run. I’ll stay and prove my innocence.”
“Where, from prison?”
His jaw squared. “I’ll not leave father.”
“He would not want you to stay, not like this.”
From the courtyard below, Duncan heard the unmistakable clatter of soldiers.
“Go,” Colin said. “I will stay with father until you return. I swear it.”
He didn’t want to go, but Colin was right. He could do nothing to prove his innocence from prison. And without his father, who would fight for him? Archie would be having a time of it himself, defending himself before the king.
He clasped his brother around the shoulders. “Thanks for the warning, little brother. I’ve yet to have the chance to explain about Jeannie. I’m sorry if you were hurt, it was not intended.”
Colin brushed off the apology. “We were both fooled.”
Duncan gazed at him quizzically.
“You haven’t heard?” He shook his head. “Jeannie Grant is betrothed to Huntly’s son, Francis Gordon.”
Duncan froze, every muscle rigid with shock. It wasn’t possible.
Was it?
For the first time a shadow of doubt crept into the back of his mind and he allowed himself to consider what he’d been staving off thinking about for days.
Why hadn’t she told him? And what had happened to the map?
He’d had it with him the whole time, removing it only to sleep.
He recalled his sporran neatly arranged with his belongings.
And now she was betrothed to Francis Gordon.
It suddenly cast what had happened between them in an entirely new light—a sinister light.
His stomach turned. Had his brain been too addled by emotion to see the truth? Had Jeannie been lying to him? Had she used him? He didn’t want to think it possible, but he damned well intended to find out.
Leaving Colin to watch over their father, Duncan slid out of the chamber, down the corridor, past the men coming to arrest him, and into the darkness of the night beyond.