Chapter 33
“If your troops cannot win this war—”
“’Tis your leadership we enjoyed at Inverlochy,” Alexander Leslie snapped, straining for indifference in his voice. “Our troops would have fared much better had you not stubbornly rushed them through the snow in cloaks and cavalry boots.”
Perspiration beaded above Campbell’s lip, which trembled in anger.
He’d summoned the general to Campbell’s primary seat at Inveraray Castle and was anxious to get the man from his sight as quickly as possible.
Leslie had been much aggrieved that so many of his soldiers had been killed, and had since tried Campbell to no end.
“Silence,” Campbell hissed. “Or your treasonous words will cause that overproud head of yours to be severed from its body.”
Steeling himself, he retrieved a handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at his brow.
“If the troops you trained are unable to best the Marquis of Montrose, then I’ll simply put a price on his head.
Surely those”—distaste puckered Campbell’s features— “Highlanders are as capable of treachery as they are of savagery.”
Forcing the general to wait in attentive silence, Campbell meticulously folded the square of cloth and tucked it away. “Every man can be bought, Leslie. Find one who will deliver me James Graham.”