Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(109)

The sick feeling in her stomach rose and rose. As the hours passed, she was forced to accept what she'd known the moment the words blurted from her mouth: Once again her impulsivity had led her to make a huge mistake.

But was it a mistake?

She was so confused, she no longer knew what was right. But she did know that Duncan wasn't ever going to see it her way, not when it meant perpetuating a lie. And that's exactly what she'd been doing—good intentions or not. She would have gone right on doing so, too, for the sake of her son, if Duncan hadn't returned.

For so long she'd fought to protect Dougall, thinking only to save him from living under the shadow of scandal and the difficulties inherent to being labeled a bastard. But in protecting him, it also meant she was denying him a chance to have a father again. Did she have that right? Francis was dead, but Duncan was not.

Hadn't she once told Duncan that it wasn't his birth that made him a bastard, it was his actions? Had she truly believed that or were they just words? If she believed in Duncan, didn't she have to believe in her son?

She hated the thought of the pain it would cause him, but Dougall was strong and with their help he would weather the storm. Jeannie would never forget what Francis had done for her, but couldn't deny Dougall a chance to know his father.

And she would tell Duncan as much if only he would come back. In another hour it would be dawn, surely he would return by then?

He wouldn't just leave her … would he?

The sound of a knock startled her. Her heart leaped. She jumped from the chair, raced to the door and tore it open. “Dunc …”

The word died in her mouth. It wasn't him. It was only the innkeeper's daughter with a tray of food. The flare of hope that had soared crashed to the ground in a fizzled, gnarled heap. The girl was about seven and ten with dark hair and a pleasant round face consistent with her figure. In addition to serving food and ale in the public room below, she was also apparently the inn's maidservant.

“Is it too early, my lady?” Jeannie could see the concern on her face. “I can come back? I heard you moving around and thought you might wish for something to break your fast.”

“Thank you,” Jeannie said, opening the door and letting her in. The steaming bowl of beef broth and fresh bread smelled delicious, but she wasn't hungry. “I thought you were one of my guardsmen.”

The maid shook her head. “They're still sleeping off my mother's ale before the fire. Except for the leader—the tall black-haired man.” She gave Jeannie an uneasy look. “He left a short while ago.”

Left? Jeannie swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you know where he went?”

“To the docks, I think. He was heading off in that direction.”

Jeannie nodded and tried to stay calm. He was probably just readying the boat to leave. He wouldn't leave without her. The girl set the food down on the side table and offered to bring some fresh water for the basin, which Jeannie declined.

“I can help you with your gown,” the girl suggested, seeing that Jeannie was wearing only her linen sark.

Though Jeannie was in no mood for company, she knew she could not get dressed on her own and accepted the girl's help rather than wait for Duncan. It might be some time before he decided to come for her.

“You had business at the castle, my lady?” the girl asked conversationally, lacing Jeannie's stays.

Jeannie nodded. “I'd hoped to see the old nurse, Kathrine.”

The young maid looked at her in surprise. “Katy?”

“Yes, I was sorry to hear of her passing.”

She nodded. “Aye, it was a horrible tragedy.” She lowered her voice. “Poor Katy must have slipped on the cliffs while walking home. She washed ashore a week after she went missing. The only way they could identify her was by her hair. Like spun gold it was, twisted with the kelp.”

Jeannie grimaced, not needing the gory details. But wait—she frowned—gold? “I understood her to have black hair.” Like her son.

Maid shook her head. “Nay, mistress. Katy's hair was as bright as the sun. ‘Twas her pride and joy, those curls.”

Jeannie felt a prickle of excitement and tried to tamp it down. Hair “like a raven's wing,” Lady MacDonald had said. Perhaps Jeannie had misunderstood. But she hadn't. Maybe the old woman had been confused. That must be it.

But she hadn't seemed confused.

The niggle at the back of her neck that something was wrong wouldn't leave her. Had Lady MacDonald lied to them?

All her instincts—

She stopped. Instincts. That alone should prevent her from going any further. She already felt foolish for insisting on dragging Duncan on this journey in the first place.

It was probably nothing, an innocent mistake.

But what if it wasn't?

She couldn't let it go. If there was a chance that Lady MacDonald knew something she had to take it. But Duncan was eager to leave. And the way he felt about her right now, she wasn't sure he'd be willing to listen to anything she said. She turned to the maid who was watching her with an expectant look on her face. “Could you arrange for someone to take me to the castle?”

“Aye, my brother Davy could take you, but don't you want to wait until your guardsman returns?”

“Actually, I'd rather he not know that I've gone.” At least before he could order her not to go. This way, if she was wrong, he need not ever know. “If he comes to look for me …” She thought quickly for an explanation. Seeing the small fan she'd used to help revive Lady MacDonald peeking out of her purse, she shoved it down and tied the bag around her waist. “Tell him that I forgot my fan yesterday at the castle and have gone to retrieve it. I will return as soon as I can.”