Authors: Victoria Roberts
Declan could not deny the evidence any longer. His wee bonny wife was consuming his every waking moment. He found himself daydreaming of her and her long raven tresses. The more he had come to know her, the more he was aware of the fact that she was nothing like the bloody Campbell. She was kind and good-hearted, someone he was proud to call his wife. He could not wait until she returned from Glenorchy—perhaps they could even repeat their extended bout of lovemaking.
With a lighter spring in his step, he ambled out into the bailey, where he was halted by a loud commotion. All he managed to make out was a bellowing command to open his gates.
John ran toward him. “’Tis the king’s men. They carry His Majesty’s banner.”
Declan could not stay the sense of foreboding that washed over him. Damn. He knew it was too good to be true. He had won Castle Campbell fairly and wed the healer, everything King James had commanded. He prayed his liege was not taking back his word. Why else would His Majesty’s guard be pounding at Declan’s gates? This had to be some cruel jest. Typical—as soon as he started to make sense of his life, everything was going to be pulled out from under him. Perhaps he was overreacting. After all, he had done nothing wrong. No sense dwelling upon it. There was only one way to find out their purpose.
“Open the gates,” Declan ordered his men. Turning to John, he placed his hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “Seek your mother and stay with her.” He gave the lad a brief nod of dismissal and John ran off.
What the hell was this? Roughly a score and a half of men galloped into the bailey. A few carried the king’s flag, a red cross on a white background. Uncertainty increased with every moment. When prancing hooves encircled him, he knew this could not bode well. The bailey was full of mounted, armed men. Whichever way this would turn, his people were sorely outnumbered.
“Make way, make way,” said a portly Englishman, pushing his mount through the crowd.
As the horses parted, Declan made a deliberate attempt not to stiffen, but a chill ran down his spine as soon as he spotted Lord Dunnehl. Perhaps it was simply his own uneasiness, but the arse certainly took his bloody time adjusting his seat in the saddle. When Dunnehl’s lips twisted into a cynical smile, Declan knew one thing for certain. The man thoroughly enjoyed this—whatever this might be.
A man of the royal guard came forward. “Declan MacGregor, you are hereby charged with treason against the Crown. In accordance with the laws granted by His Majesty, the King of Great Britain, I order you to stand trial for your crimes. Seize him.”
Two men flanked Declan, and his gaze narrowed at the guard who was clearly in charge. At the same time, the remaining handful of MacGregor men unsheathed their swords, waiting for Declan’s command.
“I havenae committed any crimes against the Crown. ’Tis ridiculous. I demand to see King James,” said Declan.
Dunnehl smirked and threw up his hands in the air in an overdramatic movement. “Demand? You demand to see the king you attempted to kill at Parliament House? You have some bollocks, I dare say. There is plenty of time for that later. And lucky for you, King James is residing at his northern estate near my home in Northumberland. Confess your crimes and mercy may be awarded upon your soul. Perhaps your death will even be quick. Regardless, I would not worry, MacGregor. King James wants an audience with you, too.”
When Declan caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned. John bolted out into the bailey and Anna clutched a kitchen knife in her hand, chasing her son.
“John! Ye come here at once!” she ordered, gesturing for her son to come back.
“John! Donna ye interfere. Stay with your mother!” ordered Declan.
Blatantly ignoring them both, John rushed one of the men who restrained Declan and kicked his shin. “Let him go! Let him go!” When John’s kick had no impact on the guard, John bent his head forward and sank his teeth into the man’s hand, hard.
The guard yelped in pain.
Without warning, the brute smacked John to the ground, the sound of the crack driving a nail right through Declan’s heart. When the lad sat up, blood dripped from the corner of his lip and he swayed, disoriented.
Anna ran to her son’s side and fell to her knees. She dropped the knife and cradled John to her bosom.
At the same time, curses fell from Declan’s mouth and his fist automatically came into contact with a face. Spinning around, he kneed another man in the groin. Someone grabbed him from behind and attempted to restrain him.
“He is only a lad,” Declan bit out. He refused to submit without a fight, and it took four men to subdue him. It came as no surprise when the MacGregor men were also relieved of their weapons and restrained.
“Lord Dunnehl, control your men. You are not to intercede,” ordered the guard in command.
“Enough of this foolishness. Seize the Highlander and leave the whelp to lick his wounds. Bring the Highland woman. Perhaps her Highland tongue will soften around my English cock,” spat Dunnehl.
Springing to his feet, John fearlessly charged at Dunnehl. “Ye willnae touch my mother!”
Only when the sun reflected from the blade did Declan realize that John wielded the knife. He screamed upon deaf ears as Anna ran after John. Instinctively, one of Dunnehl’s men unsheathed his sword. This had gone too far. He needed to stop this madness.
“Nay! Donna ye touch them!” Declan bellowed with reckless anger. He fought to release the iron grip of the men that held him and his furious glare swung to the leader of the guards, but it was too late.
Anna pushed John out of the way and then glanced down. She gasped, panting in fear. A sword was slowly pulled from Anna’s gut, blood pooling into her hands. The light was snuffed out of her eyes and then she collapsed to the ground.
“Mother! Mother! I will kill ye! Ye English cur! I will kill ye!” John dropped to his knees and held his blood-soaked mother tenderly in his arms, rocking her gently back and forth. “Mother, please donna leave me. Mother,” he sobbed.
Declan’s anger became a scalding fury and he was breathless with rage. He swung his head back and a man’s nose crunched under the forceful blow. He could not remember all of what happened next, but John’s cries would forever be imbedded in his mind. He would personally kill the smug English cur who sat so mightily above them.
With a firm knock on the head, Declan fell to the ground. He lifted his eyes to Dunnehl and spoke through clenched teeth.
“Mo mhallachd ort! An diobhail toirt leis thu!” My curse on you! The devil take you!
Dunnehl chuckled. “I know not what you speak, Highland barbarian. Save it for His Majesty.” Casting John one last glance, Dunnehl spoke without remorse. “You will be all right, my dear boy. I was raised without my mother and I turned out just fine.” He gave his man a nod and smiled. “Leave MacGregor’s men with the whelp to bury his mother. They are no match for the king’s guard. Bind MacGregor and put him on a horse. We need to make haste. His Majesty waits for his traitorous head.”
***
Liadain jumped at the uproar. Twisting around, she watched in shock as Ciaran and Aiden assisted John into the great hall. He was covered in blood and dirt, and she barely recognized the boy. She gasped and ran to his side.
“John! Where are ye hurt?” She frantically searched the boy’s body for any sign of injury and was taken aback when he had no external wounds. A glazed look of despair was spread over his features, his expression one of mute wretchedness.
A chill silence surrounded them.
“John,” she repeated. When the boy did not respond, Liadain knelt down beside him and turned him to face her. “Look at me. Whose blood is this?”
“He arrived at the gates when we were returning from the village and hasnae spoken a single word,” said Ciaran with concern.
Her stomach knotted. Searching for a plausible explanation, she began to question him. “Where were ye? Did this happen at Castle Campbell? Where is your mother?”
John gulped hard, tears slipping down his filthy, bloodstained cheeks. “Dead.”
Uncertainty made Liadain’s voice harsh and demanding. “What do ye mean? What happened?” A large hand encircled her arm and Ciaran pulled her to her feet.
Effortlessly, Ciaran scooped up John’s tired and ragged body. “We can discuss this further in my study.” Practically stepping on Ciaran’s heels, Liadain followed him with Montgomery and Aiden. Ciaran placed John onto a chair, and the lad looked helpless and lost.
Kneeling beside him, Ciaran placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “John, ye are a verra brave lad and were wise for coming here. Ye are safe now. Howbeit ye need to tell us what happened. Do ye understand? ’Tis verra important that ye do.”
John nodded but couldn’t speak through his tears. He wiped his eyes, then tried to speak again. “The king’s men came to Castle Campbell and demanded to see the master. They took him.”
“What do ye mean they took him?” blurted out Liadain.
Ciaran shook his head at her when she spoke. When John started to sob again, Ciaran squeezed his shoulder. “It will be all right, lad, but ye need to tell us all.”
“They said he committed crimes against the Crown. I tried to help him, but I couldnae. They wanted to take my mother and she…He pulled out his sword and…” John could not finish. He didn’t have to. Tears streamed down his filthy cheeks, and there was a heavy moment of silence.
“’Tis all right, lad. Where are Declan’s men?”
“They are at Castle Campbell. The king’s men left them there to bury my mother and they only took him. There was over a score of them. When the English bastards took their leave, I ran to the stable and took a horse. I rode here with much haste. He and m’lady have been naught but good to me and Mother.”
“Did they speak of what crimes Declan committed?” asked Ciaran.
“The king’s man didnae really speak upon it. There was some fanciful lord who did most of the talking. The lord said the master attempted to murder King James.”
“Murder the king? Tis absolutely ridiculous,” said Liadain.
“John, I want ye to think verra hard. Did they say where they were taking him?” asked Ciaran with a concentrated look upon his features.
“I heard them say the king was staying at one of his northern estates. The lord, I think his name was Dunnehl, said it was near his home in Northumberland.”
“Dunnehl?” everyone said at the same time.
John cast a nervous glance. “Aye, I think that was his name,” he answered cautiously.
A muscle ticked in Ciaran’s jaw. “Did they speak of anything else, lad? Anything at all? Speak what ye remember even if ye think ’tisnae important. Did they mayhap mention how, when, or where Declan attempted to kill the king?”
John was deep in thought when his face suddenly lit up. “Aye, I remember. I donna think he mentioned how or when, but he said where. Parliament House.”
Ciaran stood and patted the boy on the shoulder. “Ye did verra well, lad. Donna worry. We will get him back. Aiden, take John out and have someone clean him up,” he ordered. Sitting down behind his wooden desk, Ciaran sighed. “Ye will stay at Glenorchy, Liadain. We will travel to Northumberland and fetch my brother.”
“Nay,” countered Liadain. “We ride to Castle Campbell.”
***
Declan was breathless with rage. He swallowed, trying not to reveal his fury, and smirked when he remembered all of the countless times he chose to ignore his father’s never-ending advice. Why was it at this particular juncture in his life that he found his sire’s life lessons slipping through his thoughts? As if his father’s words were able to hold his emotions in check, he silently repeated one of his father’s lectures.
“If ye let your anger guide ye, it will do ye nay good.”
True. Perhaps even get him killed before he had an audience with King James.
“A well thought plan is always best.”
Declan had to admit, that one was by no means an easy feat. He would need to give this further thought.
Riding the last few hours in silence did not help relieve his anger; the urge to drive a stake through Dunnehl’s black heart was overwhelming. Knowing he would only fuel the fire if he showed any signs of weakness, he kept his eyes straight ahead and spoke not a single word. He let his mind race with torturous thoughts, realizing how many ways there were to kill a man. And he mentally took pleasure in them all.
English
cur.
Once he met with the king, he would be able to clear the air and his name. The whole situation was complete and utter chaos. Who would even believe such an absurd accusation that he attempted to kill his liege? Anyone who knew him was completely aware that he never made it a point to concern himself with politics.
He and the healer had traveled from court directly to Glenorchy. How could he have been involved in a plot to kill the king? But until he could speak directly with His Majesty, he would keep his mouth shut and his eyes forward. And then he would make Dunnehl pay for what he’d done.
Liadain’s blood boiled. Her husband had been forcefully taken to stand trial for crimes he had not committed. If she had not discovered Archie’s secret study, MacGregor surely would have been convicted of an unspeakable act against the Crown. She pulled her drifting thoughts together and now the pieces fit so clearly—Catesby, Percy, and Fawkes latching on to MacGregor not long after they arrived at court. How many times had the men sung the praises of her husband’s skill with a bow? And it was all a ploy. Of course there was no question about Dunnehl’s hand in this. And she could not help wondering whether the tournament and her marriage were part of the plan as well.
The only question that still hammered away at her was the extent of Robert’s entanglement in this mess. The man had been elevated to Viscount Cranborne. He had Elizabeth and his bairn. Why would he be scheming with such unsavory men?
Ciaran and Aiden had only needed a short time to gather their men and supplies before leaving for Castle Campbell. She cast a worried glance at John, whose head was bowed. The lad had barely spoken since they rushed from Glenorchy.
Ciaran rode up beside her. “We waste precious time. Could ye enlighten us with your urgency in traveling to Castle Campbell?”
“I discovered something in the castle that will help clear my husband’s name. We need to get—”
“Mother!” John pushed his mount forward, dashing to the mound of dirt the MacGregor men encircled. The boy dismounted and knelt before the fresh grave. He gulped hard, tears flowing down his cheeks.
Ciaran cleared his throat. “Healer, I feel for the lad, but we need to make haste.”
“I need only a moment.”
Sliding from her mount, she clamped her lips shut and held back a sob. The boy was alone and had no one. When she tried to speak, her voice broke miserably. “John, there are nay words I can offer ye to make this right. Your mother was a verra wonderful and kind woman. Howbeit I promise ye that ye arenae alone. Ye still have me.”
After a moment, John rose and turned to face her. “I loved my mother and she didnae deserve this, but I am nae alone. I still have ye, Aunt.”
Liadain’s mouth dropped open. “
Aunt
? Ye are Archie’s son?” she whispered. She was not as shocked as she should have been when the words left her lips. The way Anna always dodged questions regarding John’s father, perhaps in some way she had always known.
He nodded. “Mother and the earl would often spar with each other, and sometimes I heard their words. Aye, I was his bastard son. ’Tis why he didnae want me under his roof or underfoot.”
She embraced him. “John, ye will ne’er be alone. Rest assured, my husband and I want ye about. Ye are kin. My family.
Our
family. We shall speak later,” she said.
She gave the boy a quick kiss on the top of his head and smiled. For a brief moment, she was blissfully happy. She actually had a nephew, kin. Archie had been a fool for denying his son.
But right now they needed to save her husband.
Liadain kicked her horse into a strong gallop, the men following closely upon her heels. They entered the bailey and quickly dismounted.
Approaching Ciaran, she spoke cautiously. “I donna think it wise to show everyone what I need to show ye.” She hesitated, waiting for his response.
“Water the horses. We will be taking our leave shortly,” Ciaran ordered Calum and Seumas. “Aiden, come with us.”
As they climbed the stone steps to the bedchambers, she explained her discovery. “So when I moved the portrait, I found the latch and it opened into another room. I found Archie’s secret study.”
Ciaran’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. When they reached MacGregor’s chamber, the men followed her in. She was hefting the portrait when Ciaran reached out and grabbed it. He lowered the painting to the floor, and when he turned, Liadain pointed to the latch.
“Could ye light the candle by the bed?” Liadain asked Aiden.
When the wall cracked, she pushed it open. Ciaran followed her in as she held up the light to the partition and searched for the other indentation. She gave it a firm push, and the wall creaked open. Stepping into Archie’s study, she turned and sought another candle. She lit the wick and illuminated Archie’s madness.
Ciaran and Aiden examined the maps on the walls and the golden trinkets that lined the shelves. Ciaran gestured Liadain over to the desk.
“What did ye find that will clear my brother’s name?”
She pulled open a drawer and removed the stack of notes in Archie’s handwriting. “Naught I read made any sense—until now. My brother kept records of every meeting, every conversation.”
She separated out the detailed map of Parliament House and handed it to Ciaran. As he studied it, she continued. “I couldnae understand what Archie would be doing with that map. He had been there many times. Then I found this.” Ciaran handed Aiden the map and reached for the other paper Liadain held out.
“Archie kept a detailed log of names, dates, and conversations. According to what I read, he met more than a handful of times with Catesby, Percy, and Fawkes. I gathered the men had wanted to remove someone from their position of power, but I could not fit the pieces together. The three men were at court and befriended my husband there. I donna believe in coincidence.”
“I donna think ’tis enough here to clear my brother,” said Ciaran, discouraged.
Once Liadain handed him the last paper, she watched his expression change as realization sunk in. “Dunnehl. So Campbell plotted with Catesby, Percy, Dunnehl, and this man named Fawkes to remove someone from power, and it just so happened they would end this man’s life at Parliament House. I agree. I donna believe in coincidence.” Ciaran folded the documents carefully. “Was there anything else?”
She was not quite willing to share the last piece of information.
Yet
. She could not open the drawer that implicated Robert in this madness. Yet, she would not let her husband die.
“Nay, there wasnae anything else.”
Aiden and Ciaran exchanged a silent glance and abruptly walked out of the study. Liadain blew out the candles and closed the walls behind them. She was not able to keep up with the men’s long strides and had just walked out into the bailey when the last horse was galloping through the gate. Rushing to her mount, she was immediately halted by an iron grip.
“I donna think so, m’lady.”
“An diobhail toirt leis thu!”
Liadain spat at Montgomery.
The
devil
take
you!
“Lest ye forget, m’lady, I grew up with Rosalia. Naught ye say will shock me.”
He pulled her hand away from her saddle. “I understand the reason ye want to travel with them, but ’tis nay place for a woman. ’Tis a man’s business and ye will only be in the way. Mayhap even slow them down. Laird MacGregor will see to his brother. Ye need to have faith in him. In the meantime, I was instructed to see to your safety, m’lady. We can either remain here or I will escort ye back to Glenorchy where ye can stay with the women. What say ye?”
Anger lit up her eyes as she stared at this Highland brute. “Stay with the
women
? Are ye completely daft? How am I to stand by while there are men out there who want to kill my husband for a crime he didnae commit? And ye ask me if I want to stay with the
women
?” she repeated.
The beast actually had the nerve to smirk. “Ye are under my care, my watch. Now we can either do this the simple way or the hard way. The choice is up to ye.”
Liadain growled. She was tired of these brutish Highlanders thinking women had no inkling of sense whatsoever. She did not become MacGregor’s wife or the sister of Archibald Campbell, the seventh Earl of Argyll, without gaining a few knowledgeable scars herself. Perhaps if the men listened to their women even half the time they would not find themselves in such predicaments.
As she reached again for the saddle, she was lifted from her feet and hefted over the Montgomery’s shoulder. “Let me down!” She kicked and wiggled, and his firm grip only tightened.
“Donna say I didnae warn ye, lass.”
Upside down, she spotted the MacGregor men returning from Anna’s grave. “Help me!” she screamed. The men hesitated, then purposefully ignored her. All of a sudden, they looked extremely occupied—every last one of them.
She felt a chuckle beneath her. “Captain of the guard, remember?”
“Stop. Please,” she implored. He placed her back on her feet, and she brushed her hair out of her eyes with as much dignity as she could muster.
“Do we have an understanding?” Montgomery asked.
She nodded. “I donna want to travel to Glenorchy. I want to remain here. This is our home.”
“Verra well. I will see to the men. And in case ye were thinking of doing something rash, my men are instructed to stop ye,” he said in a warning tone.
Liadain’s mind was racing and she knew what she had to do. “I will see to the meal.”
***
“Would ye like more?” Liadain asked Montgomery politely. She scooped another heaping helping of porridge into his bowl and he smiled his thanks. Since there were only a handful of men remaining, she sat with Montgomery and John in the kitchens. No need for formality, and besides, it worked more to her advantage.
“John?”
“I donna think I can eat,” he whispered, playing with his food.
She hesitated and then stood up from the table. “Here. Let me freshen it up for ye. ’Tis probably cold by now.” She took John’s bowl and walked over to the pot and scooped him another helping. When she returned to her seat on the bench, she tried not to stare at Montgomery. She had to admit, it was quite difficult.
While John tarried with his meal, Montgomery’s features began to tighten and he shifted his weight on the bench.
“John, ’tis been a verra long and exhausting day. If ye arenae going to eat, why donna ye wash up and seek your bed? The rest will do ye good.” He nodded in agreement as he finally took a small bite of food.
Montgomery slowed down his pace, wiping the sweat from his brow.
It should not be long now. The man should be starting to feel the effects of the Auld Wife’s Huid she had covertly slipped into his oats. That would teach the brute to toss her over his shoulder like some light skirt. In the meantime, she would continue to try not to smirk.
Stay
with
the
women, my arse.
Liadain adamantly refused to sit and wait in the hope that her husband might or might not return to her. Ciaran carried the papers for King James. If all else failed, she would guard the one of most importance. She would only play her hand after the last card was dealt, as a last resort.
Montgomery’s stomach rumbled and he abruptly stood. “Pray excuse me, m’lady.” He turned on his heel with his bottom cheeks clenched, taking awkward baby steps toward the great hall. When his hand reached down to cup his backside, she could not suppress a smile.
“John, if I am nae here when ye awaken on the morrow, travel to Glenorchy and I will seek ye there.” She stood and John’s tired eyes looked back at her. She kissed him on the top of his head. “Rest good this eve and I will see ye soon, Nephew.” He nodded and then she snuck out the kitchen door.
Liadain walked a few yards back into the woods. Unraveling the reins, she silently led her waiting mount through the trees. Praise the saints for the false door in the stable. Contrary to what Montgomery thought, she was not some daft female. She had easily led her horse through the tunnel and into the woods undetected. No one knew these lands better than she did. She would take the long way around the castle, not efficient, but at least she would not be captured by her husband’s own men. She had a mission and would see it through.
***
Dunnehl emerged from his fancy tent, stretching his back and rubbing his hands over his generous midsection—no doubt with a belly full of food. If the situation were not so dire, Declan would surely laugh. The English cur had no idea how to travel lightly. It took two men to set up his sleeping quarters. Declan would not have surprised if Dunnehl had someone to wipe his English arse.
While being held captive, Declan came to the realization that there was quite a significant difference between the pompous English lords and the rugged Highland lairds. Give Ciaran a blanket, the stars, and a handful of supplies and he would last a sennight. He did not think Dunnehl would last without the luxury of his shelter for one eve. These English lords were nothing but a bunch of fanciful peacocks.
Declan sat on the damp ground, his hands tied behind his back. If he could get free of his bindings, he would punch the smirk right off Dunnehl’s face. He shifted his weight, uncomfortable. Damn. His leg was starting to cramp. Rolling his neck, he briefly closed his eyes. When someone fiddled with his bindings from behind, his eyes flew open only to find Dunnehl standing before him with his hands placed upon his generous waist.
“What are you doing?” asked Dunnehl, raising his brow.
“Untying him. He cannot eat with his hands tied,” said the guard.
“And how is that our problem, my dear boy? He is nothing more than a Highland dog. Let him eat like one. If he’s hungry, he’ll eventually eat.”
The guard rose to his feet and then tossed a chunk of bread on the ground in front of Declan.
Dunnehl smiled. “Highland
barbarian.
”