Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(78)
Alasdair MacGregor dead in Edinburgh? What the hell had happened?
The MacGregor chief was supposed to be in London. Jamie had given his word to that effect. He could think of only one explanation: Argyll had reneged on his promise to conduct Alasdair MacGregor to England. And if he’d done so, he’d blackened Jamie’s name in the process and unleashed a maelstrom of violence, giving the outlaws a martyr and even greater reason to rise in rebellion. Jamie didn’t want to think his cousin so rash, but when it came to the MacGregors . . .
Damn.
He stormed up the stairs to the keep. Tired and dirty from riding all day, not to mention in considerable pain from his shoulder, Jamie didn’t stop to rest or wash but headed straight for the laird’s solar. Not bothering to knock or announce himself, he pulled open the door and strode right in.
The most powerful man in the Highlands sat behind a large wooden table surrounded by a retinue of about a dozen guardsmen, all poring over documents and maps. The Earl of Argyll glanced up, his sharp Gallic features frowning at the interruption. Seeing Jamie’s dark expression, however, he quickly waved the other men out, bidding them take their piles of parchment with them.
“I hope you have a good excuse for the manner”—he looked down his long nose at Jamie’s Highland garb—“and appearance of your arrival.” Argyll prided himself on civility, distancing himself from the “Highland barbarians” and always dressing in the finest court fashion.
Jamie hadn’t missed the subtle set-down, but right now he didn’t give a damn. He’d known Argyll too long to be put off by the reminder of his authority. Though Argyll was only a handful of years older, after the death of Jamie’s father and his brother Duncan’s subsequent disgrace, Argyll had been more like a father to him, standing in for the man who’d lost his life fighting for Argyll. They were bound not only by family ties, but by something far stronger—honor, duty, and sacrifice.
His father had believed in Argyll enough to give his life for him, and Jamie did not take it lightly. Thus far, Argyll had lived up to his father’s expectations, making the Campbells the most powerful clan in the Highlands. That power, however, could not be absolute or he would be no better than a despot. Jamie believed in justice even more than he believed in his cousin.
“You know damn well I do,” Jamie said. “If this”—he slammed down the missive on the polished wooden table—“is true.”
Argyll flicked his gaze over the piece of wrinkled parchment, sat back, and tapped his fingertips together, completely at ease. “Of course it’s the truth.” His eyes shone with triumph. “Alasdair MacGregor has been eliminated. The king will be delighted.”
Jamie knew the extreme pressure his cousin was under to quiet the Highlands—and eliminate the MacGregor chief in particular—but it was no excuse. He struggled to keep his anger in check and met his cousin’s gaze. “How can the MacGregor have been killed in Edinburgh when he was supposed to be in England?”
One corner of Argyll’s mouth lifted in a semblance of a smile. “He did go to England.”
The answer took Jamie momentarily aback. His gaze turned on his cousin skeptically. “Explain how that is possible.”
“My men took him to the other side of the border, set him down upon English ground, and returned him promptly to Edinburgh.”
Jamie went rigid, disbelief mingling with an acute feeling of betrayal. The man he’d fought for, helped, believed in, had stabbed him in the back. When he thought of all the times he’d defended his cousin . . . Jamie more than anyone knew his cousin had his faults—including a reputation for wiliness. But never had Argyll so abandoned honor. He pinned the earl with his gaze. “God damn you, Archie. How could you? I’m not going to let you get away with this. You made a mockery of our bargain and of me.” The hot rush of anger surged through his veins. He remembered his long negotiations with the MacGregor and the assurances he’d given him. His voice shook with fury. “I gave my word.”
Argyll did not shrink from his rage, though Jamie could tell he was uncomfortable by the way he shifted in his chair. “Your word was preserved. The terms of the agreement were met.”
Jamie planted his hands on the table and leaned toward his cousin, more furious with him than he could ever recall—and they’d disagreed plenty in the past. “But not the spirit. This trickery is not worthy of you. You are the representative of law, the king’s justice general. If people do not trust in the rule of law—in justice—you are nothing more than a tyrant.” He gave him a hard look. “And I will not support a bloody despot.”
For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his cousin’s face. “What do you mean?”
“What the hell do you think I mean?” Jamie seethed. “If this is how you intend to quiet the Highlands, I want nothing more to do with it. You will have to find someone else to fight your battles.”
Argyll’s eyes narrowed. “I’m your chief. You’ll do what I say.”
Jamie laughed in his face. His cousin was nothing if not opportunistic—he’d claim his Highland heritage when he had use of it. He leaned over, looking his cousin squarely in the eye. “Don’t try that crap with me, it won’t work. Intimidation might work for others, but I know you too damn well. I won’t fight for a man I don’t believe in, and I’ll not serve a chief any more than an earl who has no honor.”