Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(27)
Duncan rode beside his cousin at the head of a force of nearly two thousand Campbells. With the rest of the clans and men who'd answered the king's call, they would be nearly ten thousand strong. In addition to Grant's men, they would be joined by their cousins, Campbells of Lochnell and Cawdor, MacLean of Duart, the MacGregors, the Mackintoshes, and the MacNeils.
A significant force, aye, but few of those were trained soldiers—even fewer had protective armor or a mount. He glanced around behind him at the long line of foot soldiers, seeing precious little silvery steel glinting in the sun, only the occasional knapscall and habergeon, the sleeveless coat of mail, such as he wore.
“Something bothering you, cousin?”
Duncan turned to find Argyll watching him. He frowned, considering the question. He supposed there was. “I'd hoped to see more men on horseback.”
From any other source, Duncan knew the comment would be perceived by his cousin as a criticism, but they'd been fostered together and Duncan never hesitated to speak his mind. It was probably why Argyll relied upon him—he could trust Duncan not to toady to him. Not that his cousin always heeded his advice. Nay, Argyll had a mind of his own, unfortunately with all the arrogance of youth and position.
“What disadvantage we have in horsemen will be more than compensated by our superior numbers. If the rebels manage to rouse a quarter of the men we have I will be surprised.”
Duncan refrained from commenting on the relative skill of their men, some of whom were armed only with swords or pikes and had probably only answered the king's summons for the plunder. Huntly's numbers would be much smaller, that was true, but they would be trained and better equipped.
But that would change. When the king and the Frasers, Irvings, Forbeses, and Leslies arrived they would have many more horsemen. “You are probably right,” Duncan agreed.
Argyll quirked a brow—the sardonic look emphasizing the sharp angles of his dark, Gallic ancestry. “Probably?”
Duncan grinned. Archie liked to believe he was always right. “Aye.”
“There's no doubt about it, there will be a rout. Huntly won't escape punishment this time.” Argyll was unable to mask his glee. “Not even James can ignore a conspiracy to take his crown and put it on the head of a papist.”
The bitter rivalry between the two earls was well known. It infuriated Argyll to no end that despite Huntly's persistent failure to renounce his religion—and his outright defiance—the king continued to show “Geordie,” his boyhood companion, favor. Seeing “Geordie” brought to heel—not to mention laying claim to some of his lands—was something Argyll had looked forward to for a long time.
When Duncan didn't disagree, his cousin eyed him slyly. “Where did you disappear to last night?”
He held his face impassive. “I was tired. I went to bed.”
“Hmm …” His too-observant-cousin didn't believe him. “It's funny,” Archie offered ironically. “Our beautiful young hostess seemed to disappear about the same time as you did.”
The muscle in Duncan's jaw jumped. “Is that so?”
The problem with foster brothers was that they knew you too damned well. Duncan shot his cousin a warning glance, one that was ignored.
Realizing he'd struck gold, Argyll smiled like a cat that had just cornered a fat mouse. Like many young men recently wed, he seemed eager for everyone around him to share his fate and had been encouraging Duncan to find a wife. “The suggestion of a betrothal between the gel and Colin surprised me—at Stirling I was sure that you wanted her.”
His blasted cousin saw far too much. Duncan gave him a hard look. “Would it have mattered?” he asked, unable to completely bite back the bitterness in his voice.
Argyll considered the question, but not for long. The answer was painfully obvious. “Nay, I suppose not.” His cousin never shirked from telling him the truth—no matter how harsh. In that they were alike. “How badly do you want her?”
Duncan looked at him, but he didn't need to answer, the fierce intensity in his gaze said it all.
“I see,” Argyll said in a measured tone. “It's a pity. Colin will never be half the leader you are.”
“He's young yet,” Duncan defended automatically, as always fiercely loyal to his younger brothers and sister. He'd always been close to his half siblings, even more so in the year since their mother had passed. His father's wife had tried, but had never been able to get past her resentment of Duncan's place in her household. Perhaps it would have been better if his father hadn't shown him so much favor. But fortunately, their mother's coldness had never affected his relationship with her children.
As lads, Colin and Jamie had tailed after their older brother, mimicking everything he did—including dragging around weapons that were too big for them—with eagerness that bordered on idolatry. Growing up, there had been surprisingly little rivalry between the brothers, which Duncan supposed was partially do to the age difference. As Colin grew into manhood, he suspected that would change.
It certainly would once he found out about Jeannie.
Now that his anger had waned, Duncan could see that Colin was not to blame for what had happened. While at Stirling, Duncan had taken care to keep his interest in Jeannie to himself. That his brother had taken one look at her and fallen in love … well, he could hardly blame him.