Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(30)
He said it as if there could be no worse comparison. Yes, her mother had made mistakes—but she wasn't all bad … was she?
He was studying her face too intently. “Just what have you done?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.
Jeannie shrank back. “N-nothing,” she lied.
He stared at her face as if not sure whether to believe her. “So quick to fall in love are you? But what do you really know about Auchinbreck's bastard?”
“I know all I need to know. Surely you can see what kind of man he is? He will make a name for himself. Already he is greatly esteemed by his father and cousin. I love him and I know if you just give him a chance—”
He slammed his glass on the table with such fury the amber liquid sloshed over the edge of the glass. “I will hear no more of this. The betrothal has been agreed upon. Return to your room and if I find you have been lying to me, I will see you locked in the tower like your Great-Aunt Barbara. It's what I should have done with your mother.”
Jeannie's eyes widened. Her great aunt had been locked in the tower when she refused to marry any other than the man she loved. She'd died there and even today “Barbie's Tower” was said to be haunted by her ghost.
She gazed up into the cold, hard eyes of a familiar stranger. The transformation in him couldn't have been more extreme. God, he meant it. What happened to the man who'd taken her on his lap when her mother left, wrapped her in his big, strong arms, and dried her tears?
But she'd never defied him before. She'd always been the dutiful, biddable girl, trying to atone for the mother who'd left him—who'd left them all. He might love her, but it was not without boundaries—and she'd just crossed them.
She shivered to think what he would do if he ever found out about what she'd done with Duncan.
He must have seen the fear in her eyes. His gaze softened, and he took her hand. “I'm sorry, lass, I should not have said that. I know you aren't like your mother. You've always been a good girl. I know I can count on you to do what's right. To do your duty to your clan, can't I?”
She'd hit a nerve, more raw than she'd realized. He would never have spoken to her so otherwise. Her mother's betrayal had cut deeply. What would it do to him if she did the same? “Y-y-yes, father.” Her voice shook.
His face brightened and he managed a smile. “There's a good lass. Now we'll forget all this unpleasantness. I won't hear another word about a Campbell in this keep. Francis Gordon is a good man, you'll come to care for him.”
But she'd never love him like she did Duncan.
Jeannie fled from the solar, running across the hall and up the stairs, not stopping until she'd reached her tower chamber.
For hours, she stared out the window, shivering despite the warm day and the plaid she'd wrapped around her shoulders. Long after her father and his men had gone, she stood up, knowing what she had to do.
I can't let him die.
Her attempt to make her father see reason had not worked. She prayed she faired better with Duncan.
“I am of the opinion …”
Duncan hoped to never hear those words again. They seemed to ricochet back and forth in his head like a musket ball, leaving him with a splitting headache. The raised voices were all starting to run together.
If this was what a council of war was like, Duncan would stick to fighting. He'd rather take his chances against a claymore and hagbut any day over listening to the same argument go round and round for hours.
Gathered in the great hall of Drumin Castle were the elite of King James's Highland forces: chiefs, chieftains, and a few trusted captains like Duncan—each of whom insisted on putting forth their opinion. Like a room full of competing cooks who each added seasoning to the pot, all they'd ended up with was salty gruel.
Duncan had been listening to the arguing for the better part of three hours now, and the other men were finally coming to the realization that he'd made hours ago—Argyll could be as stubborn as an old mule.
His cousin had set his course and would not be swayed. No matter how vehemently the council argued otherwise.
On arriving at Drumin Castle, they'd been surprised to learn that Huntly had moved his forces to Auchindoun—only a few furlongs away. Argyll wanted to strike a quick blow against his nemesis and attack on the morrow, before the king and the other clans from the south arrived with their horses. His cousin believed their advantage of position and numbers would be enough.
His chief advisors argued against it. Duncan's father, Cawdor, MacLean, and MacNeil, all agreed that it would be precipitous to attack now. Only Grant and Lochnell sided with Argyll.
“We should wait for the king's orders,” his father reiterated, ever the steady voice in a sea of discontent. “And for the additional cavalry support.”
“By time the king arrives my yellow standard will be flying high atop the tower of Strathbogie,” Archie boasted boldly. “We have all the men we need. Our scouts have put their forces at no more than two thousand. We have five times that many.”
“But most of Huntly's men are mounted,” his father pointed out, much as Duncan had earlier.
“Our numbers will outweigh any advantage of their horses. We have them where we want them.” Argyll glared at the chiefs defiantly. “I will not sit back and squander this opportunity.”