Chapter 23
Duncan breathed easier when Colin’s men returned from Dunyvaig Castle empty-handed. Lady MacDonald claimed that Jeannie had left the island first thing this morning. Whether it was true, Duncan didn’t know, but he wanted her as far away from his brother as possible.
He allowed himself to be loaded onto the birlinn, trying to put aside his fear for Jeannie.
He knew it was far safer for them both if he left the island without her.
He didn’t think Colin had completely believed his avowal of indifference and he didn’t want to put it to the test. If she wasn’t with them, Colin couldn’t try to use her against him.
Moreover, it might not be necessary to escape, but if it was, Jeannie’s presence would make it a much more difficult proposition.
Still, the thought of leaving her went against every protective bone in his body.
She’ll be fine, he told himself. If she’d gone to the castle, Leif would have seen her. And the Norseman would protect her with his life.
But why had she gone to the castle?
The thought that she might have left him as Colin had suggested, or turned him in as he’d asserted, had entered his mind for a fraction of an instant, but he’d never truly considered it.
Whatever reason she’d had to return to Dunyvaig, he knew it wasn’t that.
She loved him. She would never have told him about Dougall if she didn’t trust him completely.
And he trusted her. He knew it with a certainty that defied explanation. He could be looking at a mountain of evidence against her and still he wouldn’t believe it. He didn’t know what had changed, what had caused his trust not to waver, but it didn’t. Not a hair.
He supposed he had Colin to thank for giving him the clarity he’d sought.
When he’d heard the woman’s scream everything had crystallized.
He’d been angry at Jeannie for not telling him about Dougall, but the real source of his fury had been directed at himself.
He was to blame for leaving her alone and with child.
His lack of trust had cost him not just the woman he’d loved, but his son.
It was a mistake that he would never be able to rectify, but he swore he would do everything he could to try.
He thought back to last night, regretting more than ever what had happened. He should have been falling to his knees, begging her forgiveness, and instead he’d walked out on her and threatened to destroy all she’d done to protect their son.
He supposed he wouldn’t blame her if she had left.
But he swore he would make it up to her—if he had the chance.
Wisely, Colin had separated him from his men.
But Duncan wasn’t interested in escaping—not yet.
Not until he had a chance to question his brother.
Colin, however, did not seem eager to renew their bonds of brotherhood and had situated himself well away from Duncan on the boat.
He’d have to wait until they landed at Tarbert.
From there they would carry the birlinns (Colin’s second boat had joined them as soon as they’d left the harbor) across the narrow one mile long slice of land that joined Kintyre and Knapdale to Loch Fyne which would take them north to Inveraray.
On the boat, Duncan took the opportunity to watch his brother’s interactions with his men, and what he saw bothered him.
Colin was quick to temper and hard of fist. There was little talking amongst the men, and none at all with Colin.
The lack of conviviality didn’t seem to bother his brother.
In fact, he seemed to relish the detachment provided by his position as chieftain.
The wind was against them as they sailed north around the Isle of Gigha and the men took to the oars.
The skies had darkened and the wind was cold and damp with the coming storm.
The high, choppy seas made for perilous travel and Duncan could only hope that Jeannie was safely tucked away in Dunyvaig.
As the weather worsened, so too did his brother’s temper.
Colin had never been much of a seafarer and the turbulent seas made him even less of one.
His skin had taken on a distinct green tinge.
By time they sailed into the harbor at west Tarbert, night had fallen and the rain drizzled through the soupy dark mist.
Not eager to take to the stormy seas in the dark, Colin ordered his men to arrange for horses. They would travel the remainder of the journey to Inveraray by land. If the weather did not worsen, they should reach the castle before midnight.
As his men were being unloaded from the boat, Duncan was able to exchange a quick glance with Conall, telling him to do nothing—not unless necessary.
It soon became apparent, however, that escape was exactly what his brother wanted him to do.
Colin seemed to be giving him every opportunity.
More than once in the confusion of the boats being unloaded and the men readying the horses for their journey, Duncan was left with only a single young clansman guarding him.
The boy barely had whiskers on his chin.
Duncan had to be at least a head taller and three stone worth of muscle heavier.
He could have overpowered the lad with both his hands and feet tied together.
At one point, Colin even sat him down against a tree, right next to a sharp rock. Duncan could have cut through the rope around his wrists in minutes.
He wished he could think it was a measure of brotherly devotion, but he feared a far more nefarious purpose. He suspected that Colin wanted him to try to escape so he had an excuse to kill him.
As they rode along the tree-lined road that would take them north, Duncan became even more convinced of his brother’s intentions.
Rather than toss Duncan over a horse and lead him, Colin had ordered Duncan’s ropes loosened enough for him to be able to ride.
Though the road was wide enough to travel three abreast, Colin ordered two columns with Duncan in the rear, but Colin always stayed close enough to get a shot off.
His brother was doing his best to feign inattention, but Duncan sensed his constant watchfulness.
He was like a serpent, coiled and waiting for that first move to strike.
Indeed, as the journey drew on and the night darkened, his brother’s edginess only increased. He flinched at sounds. Shot furtive glances into the darkness, his eyes constantly shifting—almost as if he was expecting a ghost to jump out.
Perhaps he was. Duncan recalled what Jamie had said about the MacGregors and Niall Lamont. Colin’s unease wasn’t unfounded. More than once, Duncan had the distinct sensation that they were being stalked.
When Colin quickened the pace and ordered the man riding beside him to fall back and scout behind them, Duncan took the opportunity to fill the gap in the line and rode up beside him.
“Are you so anxious to see me to Inveraray or are you simply eager to get off the road?”
Colin didn’t look pleased by the observation. He didn’t like that Duncan had seen his weakness. “You by contrast, brother, seem surprisingly relaxed for a man hours away from a noose.”
Duncan shrugged. “I’m ready for the truth to come out.”
He didn’t miss the sudden flash of alarm in his brother’s gaze. “What truth?”
“I didn’t betray our clan. Someone else stole the map and gave it to Grant.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What proof do you have?”
“None but my word.”
Colin laughed—was it with relief? “And you think that will be enough to spare your life? You’ve forgotten what our cousin is like. If I were you I’d be planning for something other than your word to get me out of this.”
Duncan gave him a pointed look. “If I didn’t know better, brother, I would think you wanted me to escape.”
Colin didn’t blink. “Now why would I want to do that?”
“You tell me. What’s in this for you, Colin? What do you hope to gain by bringing me in?”
He flushed an angry red in the hazy moonlight. “I don’t hope to gain anything. I’m doing my duty to our cousin that is all. I take no pleasure in this.”
“Don’t you?” He wished he could believe it. “You know I didn’t do what they accuse me of.”
“I know you’ve been tried and found guilty.”
“What reason would I have to betray our clan?”
“Jealousy. You were angry about my betrothal. Angry that father wouldn’t let you marry the girl you loved.”
“Only because you got to him first. Why’d you do it, Colin? Why did you arrange that betrothal even though you knew I loved her?” Colin’s mouth thinned, a mulish look on his face. “Did you hate me so much?” Duncan asked.
Colin’s eyes flashed an angry blue in the darkness. “Yes,” he snapped. The burst of animosity surprised them both and Colin quickly regained control. “No. You should have known your place.”
Colin rode ahead and Duncan lost the opportunity to learn anything more. Perhaps he’d learned enough. Colin’s resentment of him had been far deeper than he’d realized—far deeper than he suspected even Colin realized.
Colin drove forward in the darkness and rain, pushing the horses to the limit, but eventually they had to stop.
The men Colin had sent back to scout had returned with the news that they could find nothing, but still his brother was taking no chances. He set up a perimeter with half his men while the others saw to the horses.
Duncan had been separated from the other prisoners and sat along the water’s edge, his back to a tree. He hadn’t eaten anything all day and was surprised when the young guardsman offered him a piece of dried beef and ale. He thanked him and accepted it gratefully.
The boy looked around. “Is it true what they say about you?”
“Which part,” Duncan said dryly. “They say quite a bit.”
The boy tried to hide his embarrassment—unsuccessfully. “That you are the man known as the Black Highlander. That you are the greatest warrior—”