Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(45)

It was near dawn by the time Duncan slipped through the gate of Drumin Castle on foot, leaving his horse—and battle garb—a short distance away. He'd carefully hid his steel knapscall, weaponry, and mail, exchanging them for a simple plaid and bonnet worn down low over his brow so as not to attract notice.

They were looking for him. The three parties of soldiers he'd avoided on the road told him as much, but as the gates were not being watched closely he guessed they did not expect him to return.

He hid in the stables and spent the better part of the day avoiding anyone who might recognize him, waiting for the opportunity to slip inside the castle. Finally, he joined a party of men bringing in peat for the kitchens.

Once inside he'd worked his way back up the stairs from the kitchens to the laird's chamber. Opening the door carefully, he peered inside, relieved to see only Colin and a maidservant. Colin lifted his head when Duncan entered, his eyes red and glassy.

His gaze widened when he realized it was Duncan. “What are you doing here? You shouldn't have come back. Half the King's army is looking for you.”

“I had to see father. Has there been any change?”

Colin shook his head mutely.

Duncan knelt beside the bed, taking his father's hand in his. It was as cold as ice.

“Duncan, you can't stay here.”

He met his brother's gaze. “I intend to prove my innocence.”

Colin gave him a strange look. “You found the proof you were looking for?”

His mouth tightened. “No, but I believe our cousin will listen to what I have to say.”

Colin shook his head. “You don't understand. There is a bounty on your head. You have been tried this very morning and found guilty.”

Duncan swore. “Argyll will believe me.”

Colin didn't look so sure. Indeed, Duncan suddenly realized that Colin didn't believe him either. “You think I'm guilty.”

“No,” Colin said reflexively, but without real vehemence.

Duncan held his stare for a long pause. “I see,” he said softly, unable to believe how quickly his own family had turned against him. The evidence was strong, aye, but did it erase a lifetime of honor and loyalty? Were his actions on the battlefield supposed to be some elaborate front? It was ridiculous.

“It's not like that,” Colin said, trying to make amends. “It's just the lass is beautiful—” He stopped at the sound of footsteps approaching the door. “I'll get rid of them,” he said.

Duncan hid behind a tall cupboard near the door until he heard the sound of his brother's voice fading down the corridor.

He knelt beside his father's side again, resting his head against the bed as if willing him to wake and give him guidance.

It was far worse than Duncan had realized. They'd already tried and convicted him. Without proof he would not be able to overturn the judgment against him. With sudden clarity, he realized that he'd been made a convenient scapegoat for the loss of the battle. A bastard was an easy mark. If his cousin and his own damned brother didn't believe him, who would?

He felt drained, as if all the life he'd known had been sucked right out of him. For the first time in his young life, he was at a complete loss. What can I do?

He must have spoken the question aloud, because he heard a soft grunt in response. He thought he'd imagined it at first, but when he raised his head his father opened his eyes.

“Father!”

His father moved his head back and forth on the pillow, clearly distressed. Duncan tried to calm him with soothing words, but it didn't work. His father opened his mouth, trying to talk, but only strangled sounds came out.

He was only growing more agitated. His body seemed gripped in a spasm, his eyes wide open. Duncan knew that he needed to get the healer. He stood to run to the door, but his father grabbed his wrist with surprising strength.

Their eyes met and finally he managed to speak, but the words were jumbled and difficult to make out. “Forgive me,” his father rasped. “Mother … Find … Mac-Donald.”

“Father, I can't understand—”

But his words were cut off by a cry, as a violent convulsion wracked his father's frail frame in one last embrace. When it was done, Duncan knew it was over.

His father was gone.

Now it wasn't only the loss of the battle to be laid at his feet for his stupidity, but also his father's life.

He stared with dry, disbelieving eyes for a long time, overwhelmed by what had just happened. By his loss. He never got to tell his father he was sorry. He'd never got to thank him for all he'd tried to do for him.

He heard the door open, but didn't move. For a moment he didn't care if he was taken, but it was only Colin. The ramifications struck him hard. Nay, not only his brother. Colin was now his chief, Campbell of Auchinbreck.

“He's dead,” Colin said numbly.

Duncan nodded. “He woke for a moment. Tried to tell me something.”

His brother's voice was tight with emotion. “What did he say?”

“I could only make out a few words. It sounded like he wanted me to find my mother.” The mother who'd abandoned him at birth. A serving woman—a MacDonald serving woman apparently—who'd cared so little for her child's welfare that she'd never thought to see or even inquire after him for over twenty years. He had just as little interest in her. “I'm not sure he even knew what he was saying.”