A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book) (28 page)

Duncan tightened his grip around Da’s hand. “What can I do to ease your burden?”

“We have built a fine force of men.” Da completely passed over Duncan’s question.

“Aye, none better.”

“Stay in the king’s good graces. Every good deed will be rewarded, and our coffers will grow.”

Duncan nodded.

“Do not let them grow soft.”

“Never.”

“You are their leader now. Never forget that they look up to you.”

Duncan had been their leader for a while now, but there was no need to remind his father of it. “They’re all good men. You’ve trained them well.”

“I wasn’t talking about the enforcers. I was talking about the entire clan.”

Duncan blinked. When did the conversation move to the clan? But the change of topic wasn’t what bothered him. “Do not talk like that. You’ll preside over many gatherings to come.”

Coughing again, a bead of sweat rolled down Da’s temple. “I can no longer feel my leg.”

Duncan reached for a cloth and dabbed his father’s forehead. “It’ll come good.”

Da snatched Duncan’s wrist and held it firm, his eyes turning dark. “I am a warrior and an old man. I do not want to live out the remainder of my life as an invalid.”

Duncan nodded once, then tossed the rag aside with a trembling hand. Clenching every muscle in his body, he’d never show weakness in front of his father.

“Promise me you’ll take care of your stepmother.”

“Of course I will.”

“And find husbands for your sisters.” Dad erupted in a coughing fit. “Blast it, I should have married Gyllis off by now.”

Duncan wanted to take his father by the shoulders and shake him. Tell him he would be there to see his daughters wed, but he tightened his fists and resisted his urge to burst out and bellow. “The lasses will be fine.”

“They are all beautiful creatures—each and every one in their own way.”

“Aye, bonny like Ma.”

Da grinned. “Your mother is the bonniest of them all.”

Duncan sat beside him for hours. Sometimes in silence, and when Da would drift off, Duncan allowed himself to admire the man who’d fought for Christendom. Colin Campbell was the greatest hero in Scotland. A greater father a man could not have. He could spend his life trying to be half the man Da was and still wouldn’t succeed. But one thing was for certain. He vowed to strive to be as strong, as good-hearted, as brave, and as honorable as the man lying in that bed.

As the night progressed, the family came in. The girls sat on the bed beside Da, all telling him fantastical stories—all painting on smiles and putting on a brave face for him. That was how he wanted it. When John entered, he said not a word to Duncan—just sat in a chair and stared, as if he’d already passed judgment. John’s silence spoke volumes about Duncan’s guilt. He wouldn’t blame his younger brother for hating him. Duncan hated himself.

In the wee hours before dawn, Duncan and Ma maintained a vigil beside the bed. Da opened his eyes and smiled at Ma. “I’ll always love you, Margaret,” he whispered.

Then, with one last exhale, the Lord took him away.

All of Argyllshire attended the funeral. Duncan imagined there were as many people in attendance as there were at the annual Beltane gathering at Dunstaffnage Castle. The church at Kilmartin was brimming with people, and even more clansmen and women stood outside, having come to pay their respects to the great legend.

Duncan sat on one side of Ma, with John on her other. Iain had arrived with their uncle, the Earl of Argyll, and they filled the pew to John’s left. Iain had grown taller and had filled out since Duncan had last seen his youngest brother. He’d be a fine addition to the enforcers when he completed his fostering with Argyll.

Lady Margaret had been a pillar of strength until the mass began, and then her wailing resounded off the walls with an eerie poignancy, making gooseflesh rise across Duncan’s skin. The love she harbored for Da was immeasurable, and the depth of her pain drove a spike into Duncan’s own heart. If only he could have been the one to take the arrow.

Gyllis and her sisters sat to his right, all weeping and covering their faces with white kerchiefs. Duncan’s spirits sank. Aye, he would have given anything to be the man in the marble sarcophagus. The death mask had been ordered and would stand as a monument to the great knight for eternity.

Duncan sat numbly and listened to the Latin mass. Life had a beginning and an end—birth, death, and rebirth. That was the way of it. He was now the Lord of Glenorchy, and it was his responsibility to beget an heir who would one day preside over his own funeral. Closing his eyes, a picture of fiery red hair fluttering in the breeze captured his mind. Then Lady Meg’s angelic face smiled at him. He recounted their fleeting time together and how gruff he’d been with her at first. Most likely, she’d never forget his boorishness. He’d erred in so many ways.

The priest swung the brass thurible, sending clouds of incense wafting throughout the nave. Duncan inhaled deeply, the heady aroma clearing his mind. As baron, there was much to do. He straightened and caressed Ma’s wimple. He would protect and defend his family and his clan until he took his last breath, just as Da had and his father before him. They were Campbells and proud—leaders of the great nation of Scotland.

Now was the time to take the reins and lead. And by God, he would own up to that duty.

Sitting beside the hearth in his chamber, Duncan swirled the whisky in his goblet and stared at the amber liquid. His chest completely hollow, he doubted he possessed a soul. He needed to be alone. Behind closed doors, he could allow himself to come to grips with his loss. The tic above his eye twitched mercilessly—punishing him, no doubt.

A knock resounded at the door. Duncan ignored it, but the door opened. John walked in and sat in the chair across from him. “You must move into the lord’s rooms.”

Duncan said nothing.

John leaned forward. “Mercy, brother. Are you so filled with your own remorse you cannot see the others who suffer around you?”

Heat flaring up the back of his neck, Duncan threw the goblet at the hearth. Shards of pottery scattered with a racket. “You think I do not carry the burden of Mother’s loss? You think I don’t know the pain each one of our sisters is feeling this night? If you do, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“You carry on as if Da’s death is your fault.”

“It is.” Duncan stood and kicked at the shards. “I thought we’d have a better chance of absconding with the earl and avoiding bloodshed if we coaxed him out of Kildrummy at night.”

John crossed his ankles. “How many were killed by doing it your way?”

“One of ours and one of theirs.”

“How many would have died if you’d tried to squeeze through the narrow passage at the rear?”

Duncan shrugged. “I’ve been playing it over and over in my head. But there’s no way to have known. We could have all slipped out without injury.”

“Aye, you could have, else some bastard could have lowered the portcullis and crushed you whilst the guard cornered you in the passage. Worse, some could have been caught and enjoyed the hospitality of the Kildrummy dungeon.”

Duncan shook his head and sank back into his chair.

“Do not tell me I’m wrong. I discussed it with Eoin.” John smoothed his hands over the armrests. “You made the right choice at the time, and I’ll wager if Da were alive he’d say the same.”

Duncan knew that wasn’t true. Da had voiced his concern.

John stood and walked to the sideboard. He pulled the stopper out of the flagon and poured a single tot of whisky. Returning, he placed the spirit on the table beside Duncan. “I’m leaving.”

Duncan sat back. “What the devil?”

John turned toward the hearth and stared at the fire. “All my life I’ve wanted to take the cloth. With all that’s happened, I figure now’s the time. I’m off to Ardchattan Priory on the morrow.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Duncan snatched the whisky and tossed back a healthy swig. “I need you. The enforcers need you more now than ever before.”

John spun around and spread his palms. “The Highland Enforcers was Da’s dream. And now your dream. I’m not a warrior like the pair of you. I’ve no stomach for killing.”

“What are you saying? You’re as fine a fighter as any of the men.”

“Technically, aye, but my heart’s not in it. I’d rather save lives than take them.”

Duncan slammed the goblet on the table. “Save lives? Jesus, John, that’s exactly what we’re doing. Aye, we fight the battles that need fighting, but in the end, we’re making the Highlands lawful, safer for women and children.”

John rested a calming hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “I ken, brother. All I’m saying is ’tis not right for me.”

Duncan slouched further in his chair. “Have you told Ma?”

“Aye. She gave me her blessing.”

“Well, I guess that’s it, then.”

“I hope one day you’ll understand.”

Duncan flicked his wrist dismissively. “Go on with you. Leave when the family’s in the midst of a crisis and we need you the most.”

“I didn’t—”

Duncan sliced his hand through the air. “Enough. You’ve been talking about becoming a priest your whole life. This time I’ll not stop you.”

Duncan stared at the fire while John’s footsteps crossed the room. When the door closed, Duncan cradled his head in his hands. When he needed John to stand beside him, the boil-brained maggot up and left. After Duncan returned from Edinburgh, John had made his feelings clear. He considered it deplorable that Duncan had completed the mission and met with the king. John bloody thought it was unforgivable to ask his cousins to return Da to Kilchurn, but Duncan had made a vow to a dying man—their father, no less.

The leaping flames mesmerized him. He took another sip of whisky. It was pathetic that his only comfort was the spirit. He longed for the gentle touch of a woman. But he abhorred the idea of spending the night with a passionless wench who cared more about a few coins than she did for him.

He emitted a rueful laugh. Ever since he’d met Lady Meg, he hadn’t thought about wenching. Before, he’d had an insatiable lust for any pretty, buxom lass wearing a kirtle. He’d made great sport of wooing women until they swooned into his outstretched arms. And he’d always been ever so eager to oblige them.

Now the thought of swiving any lass aside from Meg held little interest. Worse, he never should have stolen her virtue in the first place. As the flames danced, he pictured her hair, and the way the wind picked it up when they’d ridden together, sending the mane of curls sailing into his face. She smelled of sweet honeysuckle and roses. Her smile had given him an airy lightness, as if he’d walked outside on a glorious summer’s day. Now he’d never feel that kind of joy again.

Duncan rubbed his fingers along his arm and dreamt of running his hand from her breast, down the curve of her waist and up the arc of her hip. If only he could talk to the Lord of Angus and ask for Meg’s hand, but that wouldn’t be right. He’d rescued the lass. The earl would consider his suit impertinent and an abuse of their business transaction.
Would he not?

Another tap at the door sounded. Duncan snapped from his trance and groaned. “Come.”

Her dressing gown belted tightly around her body, Lady Margaret stepped inside and quietly closed the door.

Duncan stood, crossed the floor and took up her hand. “Mother, I thought you’d be abed by this hour.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Nor could I.” He led her to the chair opposite his. “Would you like a tot of whisky to calm you?”

“Aye, a wee portion, please.”

Duncan poured her a goblet, thinking a full cup would ease her woes. “You spoke to John?”

“Many times in the past, but I agree with him. ’Tis time he followed his own dreams. If he remains here, you’d soon have him carrying out another mission for the king.”

“But I need him. The men need him.”

She took the goblet from him and sipped. “Aye, but think of your brother. All his life he’s lived in your shadow. ’Tis time he came into his own.” Mother set the drink on the table and dabbed her lips with her finger. “John has always been a gentler soul. I must admit, I am happy for him. He shall make a fine priest.”

Duncan nodded and stared at her for a moment. Though his birthmother had died giving him life, he’d always recognized Lady Margaret as his ma. She’d acted as mother to him in every way. “And how are you holding up?” he asked.

“Still numb, I suppose.”

“If only I would have listened to him . . .”

“You mustn’t blame yourself. Your father chose his path long before you were born.” She smiled sadly. “I remember when Colin was called away for his third crusade. It was early December. You were but a bairn in arms, and I was left alone to provide Christmas cheer to the castle, when all I wanted to do was hide in my chamber and wallow in misery.”

“What did you do?”

“Do you remember Mistress Effie?”

Duncan’s tension eased when he recalled the nursemaid. “Aye, she was very old when I was but a lad.”

“She was indeed, and outspoken.” Ma raised her goblet. “On Christmas morn, she reminded me of my duty as lady of the keep. She also told me that I set the tone for the clan. If I was sad, my mood would affect the others. As their leader, all eyes were on me to provide a stoic example of strength.”