Kilgannon (39 page)

"Alex," I said. "Talk to me." "There's
no’ to
say."

I rubbed my hand along his shoulders and down his back as he leaned into my strokes. "Alex, my love, what happened when you were alone?"

He sighed. "They pelted me with that filth and they spit on me and tore at my clothes. It was unpleasant but they dinna harm me."

"Of course. That's why you have this bruise on your side and a cut along your cheekbone."

"They meant to torment me, is all." He leaned his head back and reached for me. As I bent to kiss him I saw that his lips were swollen and cut.

"And this, my love?" I ran a finger along his lips.

"A token of an Englishman's esteem, lass," he said, and pulled me to him again. "They canna resist me either." I stepped back and studied him. He had cuts and scratches and would have several new bruises by morning, but nothing that would not heal.

"Alex, who was it?"

He didn't pretend to misunderstand me. "I dinna ken, lass," he said heavily. "I dinna ken."

"You must have some idea."

"I have lots of ideas, Mary Rose," he said. "But I'm too tired to be sorting it out tonight."

Malcolm, I thought. Damn him. I would talk with Angus in the morning. He'd tell me more. "Alex," I said quietly. "I know you're very tired and sore, but we have to talk."

"No, lass," he said, rubbing his forehead. "Not tonight."

"Alex, someone planned that attack. Someone tried to kill you, someone who knew where you'd be, who knew you'd respond to a summons from the MacDonalds. Someone who knew what you looked like." He watched me without expression. "What would you say if I suggested we go home?"

He shook his head. "I'd say no, lass. Ye wanted a visit, ye'll have a visit. We will not be frightened off by a mob of unruly vermin." He gave me a crooked smile. "I'll heal. Now, come here, Mary Rose, and I'll direct where ye should wash next."

"Alex, we're going home."

"Aye, lass. But not just the now. I need whisky and a clean bed. We'll talk on it in the morning. Please, Mary. I'm too tired to sort it all out tonight. Will ye not let it go for now?"

I nodded.

Hours later I woke alone. The door to our bedroom was open, and a glimmer of light came from somewhere. I wondered where Alex was and then heard male voices, at least two, talking in hushed tones. I listened for a few moments and rose. One of the voices was Alex's, and he sounded very serious. In the hallway I found him and Randolph, Alex dressed only in his kilt, Randolph with a night-robe pulled loosely around him. Alex's naked back was to me and he blocked Randolph's view of my approach. Another of the promised bruises had appeared at his ribs.

"What is it?" I asked, and both men turned, startled. Alex's expression was somber, Randolph's face flushed.

"Mary ..." they said in unison.

"Ah, lass." Alex pulled me to him, and I could smell the soap on his warm skin. "Yer aunt and uncle are verra worried. Queen Anne is close to death. Randolph wants us to leave as soon as it is light."

"Some hothead may start something," Randolph said. He nodded at Alex. "Look at him. Look at what happened today. It could be worse the next time." We both looked at Alex's bruised face.

"Mary," Alex said, his distress evident. "Ye wanted a visit here. We'll be extra careful if ye wish to stay."

"My love," I said tenderly, well aware of Randolph listening. "I am ready to leave London. I came to see Randolph and Louisa and the doctor, and I have done that. There is nothing else here for me. Take me home." Alex nodded and met my eyes, but before he could answer, Louisa came around the corner, wrapping a robe around her, her face very pale.

"Did you convince him?" she asked Randolph.

Randolph shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"Aye, ye did." Alex nodded. "We'll do what ye think is best, and what Mary wishes. We can leave as soon as it's

light."

"Good." Louisa hugged me. "Now, get your husband dressed. If the maids see him like that they'll never stop talking."

My farewells to Louisa were rushed and worried. Randolph insisted on accompanying us to the ship and had armed three of his men to join us. It was a strange group: a Scotsman, four Englishmen, and a woman crammed into and atop a carriage barreling full speed through the dawn-lit streets of London. We arrived at the Mary Rose without incident, and as Randolph ushered us aboard I turned for one last embrace.

"Thank you for everything," I said, hugging him to me fiercely. 'Take care of yourself, Randolph. Be very careful now that the Whigs have taken over."

He chuckled. "I'll be fine, my dear. I promise not to wear a kilt in London." He kissed my forehead. "Write to us."

"I will," I said, and Alex extended a hand to Randolph, thanking him warmly. As the Mary Rose pulled into the river I turned to wave to the lone figure on the dock and felt a sharp pang of loss. When would I see Louisa and Randolph again? I suspected I would not be in London for a long while. Despite everything, I still loved the city. And I knew London did not harbor Alex's enemy.

HOW STRANGE, I THOUGHT AS WE SAILED PAST THE Isle of Mull, that in such a short period of time I had become very accustomed to sailing on my husband's brigs and especially on one named for me. The voyage had been blessedly uneventful and I was anxious to be home. I glanced at Alex, lost in his own thoughts. Twenty-five months since we'd met and I'd been his wife for most of them. The period between our meeting and marriage had seemed so very long at the time. That young girl, so uncertain of Alex's feelings and so overwhelmed by her own, was no longer me, and I thought of her with a fond smile. The woman I was now had other worries—having children not one of them.

What had happened in London, however, was. Angus and I had discussed it at great length. He was furious, sure it had been meant to be a fatal attack, and sure as well that it had been arranged by the same person who had planned the attack in the coach last year. Malcolm, I'd said, and when Angus had met my eyes I saw his agreement. But we had no proof. Angus had left men behind to see what else they could discover in London. What he'd found out so far was of little value. Malcolm, we'd been told, was still in Clonmor. It was difficult to see how he could have arranged the attack from there, but I still considered him our best answer. The attackers said an Englishman had paid them, but Malcolm could have allies. Angus and I agreed that it could well be the captain of the Diana or one of his cronies, but Alex and I did not discuss it, despite my many attempts.

I was biding my time. Mindful of the months Alex and I had spent arguing over Malcolm, I was hesitant to bring up my theory to him. Alex had not commented on the incident except to say that he thought it particularly interesting that Robert had warned us to be careful and soon thereafter we were attacked. That made no sense to me. In both attacks I could have been a casualty, not just Alex, although in both cases Alex was obviously the target. Would Robert risk my life to have me be available to marry him? Or would he take such a revenge for my refusal of him? Robert would not have used the ruse of the MacDonald to lure Alex to a trap, but Malcolm would have known Alex would respond to a message asking him to meet Donald. And I could not believe, whatever Alex thought, that the Robert Campbell I knew so well would ever stoop to that level. Malcolm, yes, I thought, remembering the day in the armory when he'd tripped Angus. But Robert look me in the eye and plan my husband's death? I would never believe it.

We arrived at Kilgannon in the afternoon to find preparations for the Games well under way, the meadow dotted with men cutting the grass for the races and children bouncing from one group to another. Ian and Jamie and Gilbey met us looking like heathens, barefoot, wearing stained kilts and expressions of exhausted delight. Alex hoisted a boy over each shoulder and ignored their giddy protests while he quizzed Gilbey on their activities. I gave each boy the bag of sweets that Louisa had sent to them. They kissed me with grimy lips and hugged me with grubby arms, and I held them tightly as I laughed at their enthusiastic welcome. Home, I thought. Safe and sound.

Four days later the news of Queen Anne's death arrived with Murdoch Maclean, on his way to Skye. That night Alex and I had one of the worst arguments of our marriage.

I started it. Murdoch had said that London was uneasy and there had been riots after Anne's death. Any Scot or Jacobite was suspect now, and many had been burned out or driven out by unruly mobs. Later in our room, Alex, shook his head, remembering his own experience. I meant to be sympathetic, but that soon changed.

"At least none of those people in London had to face that his brother started the fracas. You had to survive Malcolm's attack before the Londoners'," I'd said, forgetting for a moment that we didn't discuss Malcolm. Alex faced me with a cold stare.

"And what is that supposed to mean, Mary?" I met his look, instantly growing as angry as he was. I was very tired of the game we'd been playing. "It means Malcolm tried to kill you, Alex, Three times. Once with the poison, once at your agent's when they got me instead, and the third just this July."

"How can ye say this to me?" "Because I don't fool myself, Alex, like you do." His voice was deceptively calm. "I fool myself?" I took a moment and watched him. How could he be so intelligent and so perceptive in so many things and so blind in this? "Alex," I said, intending to soothe. "You don't want to admit it, but you know it's true."

"I'm fooling myself, am I? Truly an idiot, I suppose." "Not an idiot. But we all know the truth, Alex. You do as well. You're just not admitting it." "It's ye who is fooling herself, Mary," he said scornfully. "It's plain who planned the attacks. Yer sainted Robert Campbell. And ye'll protect him at all costs, which is verra interesting."

"Alex, that is absurd! Why would Robert try to kill you?"

"To have ye, Mary. If I'm dead, yer his, and we all ken it."

"That's ridiculous! Robert would never do that."

Alex continued as though I hadn't spoken. "I ask myself often why my wife defends another man so strongly. A man who courted her and after her marriage still tells her she's beautiful in front of her husband. While he's trying to have me killed."

"Alex, that's unfair! You know Robert didn't do this!"

"I ken Robert Campbell still wants ye, Mary, that's what I ken. And we all ken that if I were dead ye'd go to him."

I slapped him. I don't want to remember the rest, an ugly battle, with hateful words and accusations on both sides. We didn't speak for days and resolved nothing. I felt defenseless facing his jealousy, for he was correct. I would defend Robert against his accusations forever. And, apparently, he would defend Malcolm. It was a repulsive impasse.

The Kilgannon Games the next week were dominated by endless discussions of what Anne's death would mean. Many of the chiefs had signed the letter accepting George as her heir, but there were several who were surprised that the very thing they'd agreed to had come to pass. Still, all the talk amounted to no more than talk. Sir Donald told us that he'd not been in London. Angus's runners reported that Malcolm had been at Clonmor all summer.

Malcolm and Sibeal appeared unannounced and uninvited, just before the Games began. I could not believe that Malcolm would have the audacity to come here when Alex had told him not to, and when, I suspected, he'd just launched yet another unsuccessful attack against his brother. The Glorimor men who accompanied him confirmed that Malcolm had not left his property except to come to Kilgannon. I no longer knew what to think.

Alex welcomed Malcolm in a brusque manner. To the rest of the world the
brothers’ greeting
probably seemed subdued but unremarkable. It was only to Clan MacGannon that the strained expressions and sidelong glances were obvious. They arrived just before a meal and we sat together, talking about trivial matters. I could hardly be civil. To my astonishment, Malcolm leaned over to me midway through the meal and whispered into my ear.

"I have been a fool, Mary," he said, in a contrite tone, "and I beg yer forgiveness." I looked at him, my surprise no doubt visible. I saw Alex look from his brother to me and back again. Angus watched from the end of the table, his hand clenched on the wood next to his glass. I could not think of what to answer and stared like a simpleton at Malcolm. "I've learned a lot the last few months, Mary," Malcolm continued, "and I ken now what it is I've done and how wrong I've been. My behavior was regrettable. Will ye forgive me?"

I took a deep breath, trying to think. I will never like this man, I told myself. I will never forgive him for hutting his brother. But apparently I could not put the blame for the attack in London on him, and in the face of that I had to find a compromise.

"Tell me ye'll try to forgive me, Mary. Just say ye'll consider it. It would mean so much," he pleaded.

At last I nodded, and he smiled a smile so like his brother's that I caught my breath. Peace, I thought. Peace between the brothers.

"Thank ye for that, Mary." Malcolm glanced at Alex. "I can only pray that he will be as generous. Of course, he has much more to forgive." Malcolm sighed before turning to me again. "Help me to repair what I have almost destroyed. Please." I nodded again and felt a tightness I had not even recognized release from my chest as I followed Malcolm's look. Alex will welcome this, I thought. Thank God, Malcolm has come to his senses. The attacks in London must not have been his doing. No one could lie so smoothly.