28
CAMPBELL WAS WAITING for him at Dunstaffnage. His friend had arrived home not long after dropping Eoin at Gylen to find one of the nearby villagers requesting to speak with him immediately. As soon as he’d heard what the old woman had to say, he’d sent for him.
The message had been short and to the point: one of MacDougall’s men is in the village.
It seemed the old woman had a granddaughter who had been involved with one of the MacDougall warriors before he was forced into exile. He sometimes snuck back to see her when he was in the area. Last time he’d left her with a babe and a black eye, which had earned the enmity of the old woman, who was only too happy to take her revenge by reporting his presence to the king’s keeper.
Eoin, Campbell, and a handful of Campbell’s men had the small cottage surrounded by late morning when the MacDougall warrior finally emerged to take a piss. Caught with his pants down—literally—and without a weapon, he didn’t put up much of a fight. Hours later, however, he had proved less than forthcoming in response to their questioning.
They’d left him in the pit prison to contemplate his options while they ate. But even though Eoin hadn’t had a meal in almost twenty-four hours, he was too restless to force down more than a few bites. He couldn’t escape the feeling of trepidation that had been dogging him since leaving Gylen.
At first he attributed it to his anger toward his wife, but the longer he was gone and the more he thought about it, the more the unease grew.
“We need Viper,” Eoin said, a short while later as they waited in the guard’s room for the man to be brought back up. Lachlan MacRuairi was an expert at extraction—both of people and of information.
Campbell eyed him carefully. “Anxious for confirmation? I thought you were convinced your wife let something slip to her brother.”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“But?”
Eoin raked his fingers through his hair harshly. “I don’t know. Something about it doesn’t feel right.”
No matter how many times he replayed the conversation with Margaret in his head, he couldn’t convince himself that she’d been anything other than hurt and stung by his accusations. He’d seen her guilt, aye, but only about hiding the truth of her brother’s presence from him. Of the rest she’d been adamant—aggrieved.
Had he been too ready to jump to conclusions? Too ready to find her guilty?
One corner of Campbell’s mouth lifted. “I’ve always found that my instincts served me well.”
That was an understatement. Campbell had become the best scout in Scotland by relying on his instincts.
“What about when it comes to your wife?”
His friend smiled. “Aye, well, they tend to get a bit confused when it comes to her. I just have to listen a little harder.”
“Margaret didn’t say anything to anyone,” Eoin said suddenly. “I’d stake my life on it.”
Campbell nodded, as the MacDougall warrior was led back into the room. “Then let’s find out who did.”
It was easier than they expected. MacDougall wouldn’t say anything against his clansmen, but he wasn’t as closemouthed when it came to talking about the traitor who’d given information to Duncan MacDowell on Kerrera. The man had been a traitor to them before.
Faced with the enormity of his mistake, Eoin raced back to Kerrera. It was already dark as the shadow of the tower on the cliff came into view. That his instincts about his wife had been proved right was small consolation for the realization that they might have come too late.
“I need you to trust me. Right here, right now.”
A mix of dread and panic fell over him. His pulse was racing, and a cold sweat chilled his skin. He felt ill. What the hell had he done? He’d been so angered by the ultimatum that he hadn’t thought about what else she’d done in the past. The “or what” that he’d put to her—the fact that she’d left him, and he might have given her every reason to do so again.
“Where are we going?”
Margaret looked down at the small figure walking beside her and tried to give him a reassuring smile, fearing the unshed tears burning in her eyes were anything but. “It’s a surprise,” she said with forced brightness.
Even in the growing darkness she could see the small frown on her son’s face. “I don’t like surprises.”
So much like his father . . .
Her chest squeezed, trying not to think about how much it hurt. She could do this. She’d done it before, hadn’t she?
“I know, but I hope you shall like this one.” Turning around and seeing that the tower had faded from view, she decided they were far enough away. The anchorage point was just on the other side of the islet of Eilean Orasaig in the bay. “How would you like to see your favorite uncle?”
“Uncle Duncan?” the boy asked excitedly. “Here?” He frowned and looked up at her with a furrowed brow. “Has he decided to fight for the bloody usurper, too?”
Margaret winced, realizing the short time on Kererra had not wiped away all traces of her father’s anger. “Nay. He’s with your grandfather and the rest of your uncles on the Isle of Man. But he’s come to take us for a visit.”
He stopped, letting his hand fall from hers. “But what about . . . what about my father?”
She knelt down to face him. Over his shoulder the sun flattened on the horizon. It was almost dusk. She knew how confusing this must be to him—it was confusing to her—but she vowed she would do whatever it took to see that Eachann was not hurt by her decision. Even if it meant she had to be apart from him sometimes—God help her. “You may come back and see him whenever you wish, but I—” Her voice dropped off. What could she say? “I can’t stay here any longer.”
She couldn’t be half a wife—even for her son. She wanted to share Eoin’s life, not merely be a part of it. But the secrets between them from the first were still there.
Eachann’s face drew so serious she wanted to squeeze him tight and never let him go. “Doesn’t he want us anymore?”
She threw her arms around him and gave him a fierce hug. “Of course he does, sweetheart. He wants you very much.”
“Then why are we running away?”
“We aren’t—” She stopped, staring at him. He was right. She was running away. Just like before. Maybe they were doomed to repeat their mistakes after all. All of them.
She was trying to figure out what to say when she was saved by a dot of white in the distance. A sail. She stood and took his hand. “Come, son, we must hurry. Your uncle is here.”
Eoin was too late. They were gone.
He’d raced up the tower staircase to the room he shared with Margaret, only to find it dark and empty. He didn’t need to look in the antechamber to know that Eachann was gone as well.
It felt like a stone wall had crashed down on him as he realized everything he’d lost. It was like the last time, when he’d come home to realize she was gone, except maybe even more devastating. He’d lost his wife and his son.
They’d fled and it didn’t take him long to realize how: her brother. Eoin had been so angry about the failed trap he hadn’t asked her the details of how her brother planned to “rescue” her. He must have planned to pick her up on the way back from Appin—today.
A quick questioning of the guards on duty at the gate told him he was right. The lady and the wee laddie had left over an hour ago for a short walk to the village. Not the village in reality, Eoin knew, but one of the other anchorages on the isle. There were three, including the one at the castle. The one on the northwest side opposite Oban would be too busy—even at this hour—but the one on the east side of the isle would be easily accessible for a ship of marauding MacDowells sailing down the Firth of Lorn who wouldn’t want to draw a lot of attention.
The anchorage was a short walk. Twenty—thirty—minutes at the most. If they’d left over an hour ago, he knew they were likely long gone. But he had to make sure. Knowing it would be fastest to ride, he started toward the stable when someone blocked his path.
“She’s gone,” Fin said.
It took everything Eoin had not to kill him. Only the fact that Fin was married to his sister prevented his grandfather and namesake’s fabled battle-axe from coming down across his head. But still, his hand itched to reach to his side and pull it from the strap.
Not cognizant of the imminent danger, Fin added, “I saw her and the boy boarding a ship by the dock at Bar-nam-boc.”
Eoin took a threatening step toward him, his hands fisting at his sides. He’d never wanted to strike someone so badly. “And you did nothing to stop them?”
Fin shrugged, obviously mistaking the source of the threat that he was too good of a warrior to have missed. “I figured it was for the best. She betrayed you again. The traitorous bitch is better off gone with her kin.”
“Don’t you mean better off gone where I won’t discover the truth?”
Fin’s confidence slipped, but only for a moment. He did, however, straighten from his relaxed stance into something slightly more defensive. “You know the truth.”
“Aye, I do,” Eoin said darkly, his muscles tensing as he took a step closer.
“I told you about her brother Duncan being here on Gylen.”
“You did,” Eoin said, seething. “But you neglected to mention that you were the one who told him my plans. You were in the barn, weren’t you?”
It was the only explanation, and the one Eoin hadn’t considered when he’d been so focused on condemning his wife. Someone had overheard them. It was his fault, damn it. He’d been in a rush and hadn’t checked.
Fin hesitated. He seemed to be weighing whether to lie. Apparently recognizing the futility, he just shrugged again. As if it were nothing. As if his betrayal hadn’t cost Eoin everything. “Fortuitously outside the window. I saw you come back and decided to stay.”
“So you spied on me and decided to betray me?” Eoin couldn’t contain his rage. He slammed him up against the stone wall of the barmkin. “I trusted you. You were like a brother to me.”
Fin’s expression slipped, revealing anger and bitterness that must have been simmering for years.
“Were like brothers, until you married her. Married her!” He scoffed with disbelief. “You surprised me. With all those rumors going around . . . I never thought you would be the knight-errant type to ride into her rescue.”
It took Eoin a moment to realize what he meant. “It was you. You started the rumors about what happened in the library.”
Fin didn’t bother denying it. “It was no more than she deserved. The lass was shameless and totally wrong for you. But you didn’t see it.” His mouth hardened. “But I never spied on you. I was curious, and I thought she was trying to have you send me away after what Marjory did. I would never have said anything, but when I saw MacDowell the next day . . .”
“You decided to take advantage of it, knowing I would blame Margaret, is that it?” Opportunistic bastard. Fin had done the same thing in the war. Eoin had made excuses for him, but he wouldn’t do so any longer. He held him up by the scruff like the dog he was and shook him. “Men were killed. Good men. I could have been killed, damn it. All so you could take out your misguided hatred on a woman who would have been a friend to you, if you’d given her a chance?”
“Friendship?” Fin sneered, ignoring the hand that was squeezing around his neck. “I didn’t want her friendship. I just wanted to fuck her.” Eoin’s fist slammed into Fin’s jaw before the offending words had even left his mouth. Blood ran down his foster brother’s chin as he smiled. “She must be as good as she looks, for her to have turned you against me so quickly.”
Eoin was barely listening. He was too busy pummeling his former friend with everything he had. The face. The gut. The ribs. It took him a minute to realize Fin wasn’t fighting back. He was bent over, half on his knees.
The blood was still pounding through Eoin’s veins as he leaned over him, holding him upright by the edge of his cotun, his fist poised for one last blow. “She never tried to turn me against you. She didn’t need to. You did all that by yourself when you attacked her.”
Fin’s eyes turned black with rage. “Aye, but it’s cost me, hasn’t it? That bitch has made me pay.”
Assuming Fin was referring to their friendship, Eoin said, “So you try to have me killed?”
“I knew you and Campbell weren’t in any danger. Bruce’s indestructible phantoms?” Fin laughed at Eoin’s shock. “Do you take me for a complete fool? Do you not think I never guessed all these years?”
Eoin stared at the man who’d been his closest friend and felt his rage dampened by disgust and an incredible sense of sadness at the loss of something that had been important to him.
He lowered his hand, knowing he couldn’t kill him. But they would never be friends again. “Get the hell out of here. I’m going to get my wife and son back, and I want you and Marjory gone by the time I return.”
He heard a woman’s gasp behind him. He turned to find his sister staring at him. But that wasn’t what distracted him. It was the two people standing beside her.
“We’re right here, Eoin.” The smile on his wife’s face and the way she was looking at him made him wonder how much she’d overheard.
He was stunned. “I thought you left.”
Her mouth curved wryly. She looked down at their son and gave his hand a loving squeeze. “Well, someone reminded me that running away never solved any problems, and that MacDowells are fighters.”
“Even against pigheaded, humorless, too-smart-for-their-own-good horses’ backsides,” Eachann said proudly.
Margaret gasped, looking down at her son in horror. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” She gave Eoin an embarrassed shrug. “I was talking to myself.”
Relief and an outpouring of happiness the likes of which he’d never felt swelled over him. He grinned. “Obviously louder than you realized.”
So focused on his wife, Eoin didn’t see the threat until too late. Beaten and bloodied, Fin lunged toward Margaret.
A flash of silver flickered in the torchlight.
Oh God, he had a blade!
Eoin cried out a warning, but it was too late. Fin snaked his arm around her waist and held the blade to her throat. “You already robbed me of a son, now I’m being cast out—”
Fin’s words were cut off as his eyes widened in horror. A moment later he dropped to the ground, landing with a deadly thud. Only then did Eoin see the hilt of his sister’s eating knife sticking from the back of his neck.