Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(43)
It wasn’t the first time Jamie had experienced stilted and awkward conversation over a meal. Though perhaps he was more anxious by what was to come than he wanted to allow, because it seemed to drag interminably.
Finally, the Lamont of Toward rose. It was time. “Niece”—he turned to Caitrina—“would you join us in the laird’s solar.”
Caitrina glanced in Jamie’s direction, as if she might refuse. He kept his expression implacable. She stood, following her uncle’s lead, her smile dutiful, albeit forced. “Of course, Uncle.”
Jamie, Caitrina, Margaret Lamont, and John followed the chief into the small antechamber off the great hall. Under normal circumstances, the Lamont’s luchd-taighe guardsmen would join them as well, but Jamie had requested privacy, knowing that Caitrina was going to feel cornered as it was.
It will be for the best. He didn’t shy from doing what it took to achieve his purposes, but that didn’t prevent the twinge of disquiet.
The room was small and dark, large enough to hold a table and benches and not much else. A woven rug of blues and greens was strewn across the wood floor. The paneled walls were unadorned with paint or plaster—or windows. Indeed, except for a few sconces, the only decoration was a large silk banner embroidered with the badge of Lamont hung on the wall opposite the door. A simply constructed bookcase held what looked to be mostly the household account books. The simplicity of the room was odd in comparison with the richly appointed great hall that adjoined it, but this room seemed to fit the Lamont.
Tall and sparse, with a ruddy complexion and a shock of reddish grayed hair that managed always to look windblown, the Lamont of Toward was a quiet man of few words. In temperament, Jamie had always thought him more suited for the kirk than the battlefield. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the dangerous John Lamont—unlike the Lamont’s warmonger son.
Jamie took the proffered seat beside the chief and noticed how John and Margaret Lamont had taken the seats on each side of Caitrina, as if trying to protect her. It wouldn’t do any good.
“Undoubtedly, you are wondering why I’ve asked you here,” the Lamont chief said to Caitrina.
“Actually, I’m wondering what he is doing here,” Caitrina replied. Her gaze fixed on Jamie. “I thought I made myself very clear earlier. I have nothing more to say to you.”
“I think you’ll remember my response as well,” Jamie said evenly, noting the burst of angry color that appeared on her cheeks. “Listen to what your uncle has to say, lass,” he finished quietly.
The Lamont cleared his throat. Jamie could tell he was uncomfortable. Hell, he didn’t blame him. “Campbell here and I have been in correspondence for the past couple of months.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath and a look of such betrayal in her eyes that it cut him to the quick.
Her aunt quickly clasped Caitrina’s hand and eyed her husband impatiently. “You misunderstand, dearest, your uncle did not betray you.”
The Lamont’s eyes widened in alarm, realizing what she’d thought. “Your aunt is right. I told Campbell nothing of your whereabouts. He contacted me about another matter.”
Caitrina seemed to relax, but only a little, and she waited for her uncle to continue. But the Lamont still seemed to be having trouble finding the right words.
Taking pity on the man, Jamie interjected for him. “Your uncle has served as something of an intermediary.” He could see her confusion and explained. “While searching the forest near Ascog after the attack”—for you, he left unsaid—“I captured two of Alasdair MacGregor’s guardsmen—one of whom happened to be his cousin Iain.”
Her eyes widened a little. “And so my father’s death was for nothing,” she said bitterly. “You found the MacGregors and turned them over to Argyll anyway, or maybe there was no need to turn them over?”
Jamie’s mouth tightened. Killing them was what he should have done—and no more than Iain MacGregor deserved. That he hadn’t done exactly that was only because of her. If they were to have any chance, he knew that no more death could come from the attack on Ascog. His jaw clenched grimly. Iain MacGregor was one of the worst of the lot—a murderous scourge who’d burned and pillaged Jamie’s clansmen for years. What others might have been driven to, he did for pleasure.
Alasdair MacGregor, on the other hand, had made a different impression on him. Though they’d crossed paths a number of times in the past few years, during the negotiations Jamie came to see him as a man bound by duty into becoming the unlikely leader of an uncontrollable group of brigands—as their chief, Alasdair would be held accountable. Jamie had come away almost feeling sorry for him.
Unexpectedly, the Lamont rose to his defense. “No, he didn’t do either, Caitrina. As a matter of fact, Campbell has prevented Argyll from sending more soldiers into the area until an agreement for a peaceable surrender of Alasdair MacGregor could be worked out. As evidence of Campbell’s good faith, while brokering the deal, he has kept the location of the prisoners a secret.”
Caitrina’s gaze fell on him. He saw her surprise. She realized the significance of what Jamie had done by withholding information from Argyll. Hell, it had surprised him. Never before had Jamie refused to follow an order from his chief. Proof alone of what she meant to him. Initially, his cousin had been furious. Only when Jamie had explained his purpose had Argyll been mollified.