Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(108)
“Thank you, but I have no need of a chamber. I need to see the earl immediately. What I have to say cannot wait.”
The man looked uncomfortable, obviously not used to a lady insisting on seeing his lord and unsure what to do about it. “I’m afraid he’s in a meeting with his men and cannot be disturbed.”
Her heart raced, fearing the subject of that meeting. “Is my husband with him?”
“Aye.”
That was all she needed to hear. She started up the stairs, with the porter following close after her.
“Wait!” he shouted after her. “You can’t go in there.”
But Caitrina wasn’t taking no for an answer. She turned her most dazzling smile on him. “Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind.”
The poor man was flustered witless. “But . . .”
Caitrina was already crossing the great hall. There were two doors on the opposite side of the entry, and she was guessing that one of them—she opened the first door and smiled—was the laird’s solar.
About a dozen pairs of eyes stared at her as if she were an apparition. The nervousness she had felt on the ride to Dunoon was nothing to what hit her now, but she was determined not to let it show. Plastering a confident smile on her face, she floated into the room as regally as a queen—or, she thought with a wave of bittersweet memory, a princess.
“What is the meaning of this?” A sharp-featured man seated at the center of the table addressed the porter, who’d come rushing in behind her. Caitrina quickly scanned the room, disappointed not to see Jamie. Despite their current state, his presence would have provided some much needed support at the moment, but it appeared she would face the devil alone.
The Earl of Argyll wasn’t quite what she’d expected. Though dressed like a king—his clothing and jewels as fine as she’d ever seen, befitting his role as trusted courtier to King James—there was an unmistakable glint in his eyes, a toughness to his appearance that bespoke his Highland origins. His dark features were sharp and angular, his mouth thin, and his expression every bit as grim as his sobriquet, Gillesbuig Grumach, attested. But he looked older than his thirty odd years, which probably wasn’t surprising given the troubles of his youth. His father had died when he was only a boy, and he’d faced early attacks—even attempted murder—by those supposed to take care of him.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” the porter apologized profusely. “The lady insisted.”
The earl’s gaze narrowed as he looked her over with unflattering scrutiny. “And who is this lady?”
Caitrina took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Caitrina Campbell, my lord. Wife to your cousin.”
If he was surprised by her announcement, he did not show it. “What do you want?”
“A moment of your time, if you please, my lord.” When it appeared he was going to deny her, she added through clenched teeth, “I apologize for the abrupt manner of my arrival, but it’s a matter of the utmost importance.”
She waited, heart pounding, sure that he was going to deny her. Instead, she was surprised when he waved away his men.
She felt a small burst of accomplishment that deflated quickly when he motioned her forward. She stood before the massive table, trying not to twist her hands and shift her feet, feeling like an errant child facing punishment. Suddenly shamed by her failing courage, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin to meet his gaze.
Argyll peered down his long nose, taking in every inch of her appearance, including the mud-spattered skirts and slippers. “It seems that bursting in on my solar is becoming a common occurrence in your family—although at least you are dressed appropriately.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. “My lord?”
He waved his hand. “Never mind. What is it that has brought you here with such urgency?”
“My brother and his men. I know they are here. I’ve come to plead on their behalf. If you hear them out, I’m sure you’ll see why they did what they did. But I would see them first, if you would take me to them.”
Argyll took his time in responding, his dark eyes probing with an uncomfortable intensity. “You are aware of what your brother and his men are accused, and that your husband has brought them here for my judgment?”
Her jaw clenched, but she did not turn away. “I am. Jamie swore that you would show them leniency.”
Argyll stroked his small pointed beard. “He told you all this and yet you are still here?”
She nodded, again feeling like a recalcitrant child—and a disloyal one at that.
Argyll drummed his fingertips on the tabletop, and the annoying click only increased her agitation. “Your brother’s men are in the tower under guard, awaiting my punishment.” His eyes met hers with cold calculation. “But I’m afraid you are too late. Your brother is already gone.”
Chapter 25
Gone. Caitrina felt as if she’d slammed into a stone wall, the breath knocked right out of her. She was too late. Niall was already dead.
For a moment, the bleakness and anguish of unbearable loss blinded her; it seemed as if her worst fears had come true . . . but only for a moment.
Something far deeper prevailed and pushed aside the flash of despair. Jamie wouldn’t have let that happen. She knew it with a certainty that pervaded every fiber of her being.