Chapter 16

Robina appeared at the door of Felicia’s chamber just minutes after Rory left.

Had he ordered it, or had Robina been hovering around?

How long would it take before everyone in the keep knew that she was a Campbell? She had no fear for her safety, though she did fear seeing the stunned disappointment and accusation in their faces.

The same expressions she had seen on the face of the Laird of Inverleith.

She did not know what she should have done differently. She could have tried harder to escape the keep, or she could have allowed herself to be taken to the Cameron keep. She might have told him sooner. But she simply had not known what he would do. She wished she had explained.

She no longer had his trust. Jamie might pay for her silence. She could not bear it if he were killed because of her actions.

Robina took one look at her hair, and her eyes widened. “Oh, my lady, what have ye done?” Then she clapped her hand over her mouth as if horrified by her utterance.

“It is all right, Robina,” Felicia said. “I know I look …”

Robina burst out in tears.

“I look that bad?” Felicia said.

“Yer hair, your bonny hair,” Robina wailed.

Felicia had never thought it bonny. It was untamable and too bright a color. In truth, her head felt very good without it.

“The lord …” Robina wailed again. It was obvious that she was among those who had harbored the unlikely hope that their lord and Janet Cameron would wed.

“The lord wishes nothing to do with me,” she said. “And I must tell you. I am not Janet Cameron.”

“Not Lady Cameron …?”

“My name is Felicia Campbell.”

Robina’s mouth fell open. Her eyes grew even larger. “Camp … Camp … bell,” she stuttered.

“Aye, but it does not change what I am,” Felicia said softly.

“But, but … how …”

“Archibald took me by mistake, and I feared telling anyone.”

Robina’s face filled with confusion. “The Campbell the lord just brought in—”

“He is my cousin. I suspect he was searching for me.” She paused. “I will understand if you no longer wish to serve me.”

Robina shook her head. “No, milady. Ye are a kind soul. I saw it with Alina. Ye canna pretend that kind of caring. I will heat some water for yer bath and wash yer hair. Ah, milady, yer hair,” she wailed again. She started to cry, and Felicia sensed it was more because of her shorn hair than the fact she was a Campbell.

Felicia wondered how many others would share that generous feeling.

And how could she bathe in comfort when Jamie was locked in some dungeon? If only she could see him. If only she could help him …

Instead, she took Robina’s hand. “Thank you.”

The girl bobbed, then hurried out the door.

Felicia went to the small, steel mirror and looked at herself. She had not had the heart to do it earner. Truly she must be a terrible sight to make Robina react so.

And she was.

Jamie would be as horrified as Robina. Strange that Rory had not seemed to share that distaste. His horror came from the fact she was a Campbell. He had not seemed to care about her hair.

Felicia brushed it and ashes fell around her.

A bath first, then she would see Alina. She would scare the child to death if she appeared now.

She felt a little like death herself. The chill had not left her, nor had the great void left by Rory’s rejection been filled by Robina’s generosity.

Felicia took off the lad’s clothing and wrapped herself in the nightrobe Moira had provided her days ago, then went to the window and looked out. A small group of horsemen were waiting for the gate to open. Each one was inspected by Archibald. Not so much as a mouse could leave without permission.

Robina returned, followed by several clansmen with buckets of water. They filled the wooden tub that was kept in the small room off the chamber. All of them cast quick glances at her, but she did not know whether it was because of her hair or because they knew who she truly was. She saw no antagonism, no hatred in their faces, only respect and curiosity. She decided it was her hair. They could not know.

When the men left, Felicia sank into the water, and Robina washed her hair, then, when Felicia left the tub and put on a chemise and gown. Robina brushed her hair dry.

Next she would see Alina and try to explain to the child and her mother. She did not wish them to hear from someone else if, indeed, they had not already.

Robina stepped back and looked at her critically. “’Tis really not so bad now, milady.”

Not so bad. Faint assurance. Mayhap Morneith would be so appalled he would refuse her.

She recalled the way Rory had touched her hair, even crusted with ash, almost as if … he cared about her. There had not been Robina’s horror.

But there had been anger. Deep anger and betrayal.

Would he take it out on Jamie? She did not think so. She would not think that of a man who had spent a day hunting for a lad, then riding all night to get him to Inverleith.

But she was only too aware of the hatred between the clans.

Hate twisted people. Had it done that to Rory Maclean?

She turned back to Robina, who eyed her warily, obviously wondering again if she had said the wrong thing.

“Thank you, Robina.” Felicia took the few steps to her and took her hand. “You have been a true friend.”

“A friend, milady?”

“Aye.”

Robina smiled slowly.

“I am going to Alina,” Felicia said. “I must tell her.”

Robina nodded. “Her mother is helping in the kitchen. Alina is alone.”

Felicia steeled herself. She would talk to Alina, then try to find out something about Jamie. If she must, she would beg to be allowed to see him.

Perhaps Lachlan?

But then Lachlan had not been to see her. Perhaps he, too, felt betrayed.

Felicia steeled herself and opened the door. There was no guard, but she had no doubt that Macleans had been warned to watch out for her if she wandered away from the two rooms allowed her.

She opened the door to Alina’s room. The child was alone, and sleeping. Felicia touched her forehead. It was cool to the touch. Her breathing was easier.

Hopefully the pain had subsided as well.

Not wanting to wake her from much-needed sleep, Felicia sat down in a chair, and waited.

Rory accompanied James Campbell up the steps to the kitchen. Ignoring her wide-eyed stare at the Campbell, Rory ordered a maidservant to bring food and goblets up to Patrick’s old chamber. He led the way up the steps to the third level. He stopped at his chamber to fetch the jug of wine as the Campbell waited in the doorway, and then he opened the door of the chamber next to his.

It was as spartan as Rory’s own. His father had believed that comfort would lead to softness. But it was certainly an improvement over the dungeon.

Once inside, Campbell looked around the room. There was a small window set deep in the stone walls, a narrow bed, wardrobe, and chest for clothes. A small, battered table with two uncomfortable-looking chairs completed the furnishings. Wall brackets with candles were set into the stone walls.

The fireplace looked as if it had been unattended for decades. Ashes still littered its floor. The smell of dust was heavy in the room.

Rory was in no mood to apologize. Instead, he lowered the jug of wine to the table. “Sit down,” he said.

Campbell started to say something, a protest most likely, then apparently decided better of it. He sat.

“You will stay in the room for the time being,” Rory said. “There will be a guard outside.”

“I gave my word,” the Campbell protested.

“Aye, but forgive me if I do not wish to rely entirely on it,” Rory said wryly. “It’s for your protection as well. Several of my clansmen would enjoy plunging their dirks into you.”

“I fear no Maclean.”

“No? Well, I fear the consequences if you were slain in Inverleith.” Rory knew he probably should not have admitted the last, but if there was any solution to this devil’s mess, it would be only with the Campbell’s help. “Not only for Macleans,” he added, “but for Campbells.”

The Campbell raised an eyebrow as if in doubt.

“I have been away, but even so I know James is worried about Henry, and war looms between the two countries. James does not want the clans fighting amongst themselves. It would require a protracted siege to take Inverleith. You know it, and the king knows it. He would not want two armies poised against each other if Henry invades.

The Campbell was listening.

The next part would be more difficult. Much more difficult.

“And then there is your cousin.”

The Campbell’s mouth thinned.

“Did you know about her betrothal to the Earl of Morneith?”

“She told you?”

“Aye.” He did not say that he had forced it from her just moments earlier. “Did you know about it?”

Anger jumped into the Campbell’s eyes. Until that moment, any emotion had been held well in check.

“You did not object to sacrificing her?” Rory said contemptuously.

“I did not know. I think—” He stopped suddenly, as if realizing he was being baited into saying things he did not intend to say.

“And if you had known?” Rory bored. He had to know more about James Campbell before he ventured further.

“I would have found a way to prevent it.”

“Even at the risk of committing treason?”

The silence was broken only by a knock on the door. Rory strode over to it and took a tray laden with fruit, cheese, bread, and a roasted chicken. It smelled far better than anything that had come from the kitchen since he’d arrived. There were also two goblets.

He ignored the frown on the face of the clansman delivering it.

He took the tray to the table, poured wine into both goblets, and handed one over to the Campbell. Perhaps spirits would loosen his tongue.

But this time Campbell did not take it. Neither did he touch the food.

“What do you want?” Campbell asked abruptly.

“Just as you claim not to have been involved in raids on our villages, I personally was not involved in Lady Felicia coming here. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Personally?”

“My kinsmen became a little too enthusiastic in finding a bride for me.”

Light suddenly dawned in the Campbell’s eyes, and he started to rise. “Janet?”

Rory had told James Campbell at the croft that he had thought Felicia was Janet Cameron, but he had not explained how she had come to Inverleith.

“Aye, they thought she was too good for a Campbell.”

Campbell swore softly, too softly for Rory to cipher. He did hear the word cur.

“Far better a Campbell than a Maclean,” James Campbell said in a more audible voice. “Their wives have a way of dying early.”

It was a direct hit.

“At least they do not need to flee from their families.”

Another hit.

“Be sure that you will be held responsible,” Campbell said, ignoring the jab.

“Ah, you want to make me responsible for what my kinsmen do, when you refuse to take any for your clan raiding my people.”

A muscle throbbed in the Campbell’s throat, but he said nothing.

“I knew nothing about the interception until they appeared at my gates,” Rory continued. “And then the lady was strangely reluctant to return when I volunteered to return her to the Cameron family. I had been gone ten years and had never seen her. She allowed me to believe she was Janet Cameron. And I could certainly understand her reluctance to avoid her marriage to the Campbell heir.”

Campbell started up off the chair, then sat back down. He struggled to remain emotionless, but Rory could see the anger teeming inside him.

“And now we both seem to have a problem.” Rory left the words hanging in the room as he took a sip of wine.

“Continue,” Campbell said in a steady voice laced with steel.

“You do not want Felicia to marry Morneith. I feel responsible for her current predicament. If not for me, she might well have reached you. She might have had a chance then, but now too many people know a woman thought to be Lady Janet is here. Obviously she could not be in two places at one time. It will not take long before everyone knows the woman is really Felicia Campbell.”

Campbell looked hopeful. “I can still take her away. To France.”

Rory shook his head. “If she simply disappeared now, the Macleans would be blamed, possibly for murder, mayhap for treason. I cannot allow that to happen.”

Campbell stared at him. “You have something in mind, or you would not be talking to me.”

“I have a question first. Why has there not been an outcry about Lady Felicia’s disappearance?”

Campbell hesitated again. It was obvious that he was reluctant to say anything, to give any information to an enemy.

Rory played his trump card. “I can always turn her over to the crown.”

“Fear,” Campbell said after a moment’s pause. “The steward, William, knew that he would be held responsible. He was hoping to find her before my father discovered she was missing. They have been searching everywhere.”

Including, Rory knew, Maclean villages they destroyed, but now was not the time for more accusations. “How long before he reports her disappearance?”

“An escort was due either today or tomorrow to take her to Edinburgh for the betrothal ceremony.”

“What will your father do when he discovers she’s not there?”

Campbell shook his head. “He does not like to be disobeyed. Neither does the king.”

“What would he do if he learned Morneith was a traitor?”

Campbell’s gaze speared him. “You have proof?”

“I know Morneith. More than that, I trade in Paris. I hear much. The French have numerous spies in the English court. Morneith is a traitor as well as a lecher.”

Campbell sat straighter in his chair. “That is not proof.”

“Nay, it is not. And I doubt that French spies are willing to risk their necks, and more, to help convict the man. But there may be a way to trap him.”

Now Campbell did take a gulp of wine.

Rory sat in the chair opposite him, his gaze meeting the Campbell’s directly. He wanted to see everything in that face. He had to decide whether the man was up to a dangerous game, whether he could be trusted. If not, he would be sent back to the dungeon until Rory could develop another plan. He could not risk the Campbell’s escape.

“He is said to have killed his last wife,” Campbell said.

“He most likely did. He likes boys. Young ones.”

The Campbell leaned over the table, his hands clenching. “You know this?”

“That is the rumor. I always pay attention when the French discuss the English, and the Scots.”

“She’s a Campbell. Why do you care?”

“Unlike you, she did not ride onto Maclean land of her own free will. I would have little compunction about holding you hostage, but I do not make war on women. Even Campbell women.” He kept his voice emotionless. He knew that she would never be just a Campbell woman. She had seized a part of his heart, and he had not realized it until he’d thought he would lose her.

But he had lost her, or lost what he thought she was.

Even if they found a way to destroy Morneith, her uncle would never permit a marriage to a Maclean, and he could never forget the terrible heritage of his family.

“How do I know I can trust you?” Campbell finally said.

Rory shrugged. “You do not. Just as I do not know I can trust you.”

Campbell said nothing. He took a piece of fruit and ate it, then tore off a chicken breast. “It is better than my earlier meal.”

“I told them to feed you. I did not specify what.”

“Moldy bread and water.”

“I believe they were reluctant to give you even that much.”

“They indicated as much.” His gaze met Rory’s. “You propose a trap then? When did you come up with this, ah, scheme?”

“On the ride back from the croft. I had to learn a few things first.”

“About me?”

“Aye.”

“And have you?”

“I have not discarded the idea. Yet.”

“I have not agreed.”

But he had. Rory saw it in his face. And, despite what he had said, so had he made up his mind.

It was not so much out of choice as it was of necessity.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, both weighing each other. Rory knew he was being judged as he was judging the other man. Neither obviously had certainty.

They both knew they were risking treason. They both knew they were doing it because of the same woman.

“Does Felicia know what you are planning?” Campbell asked after they had finished.

“Nay. And I do not think she should. I do not want to give her hope that could be dashed.”

James Campbell raised an eyebrow. “You care about Campbells?”

“I feel responsible for one Campbell,” Rory corrected.

“You said I could see her.”

He had. And he always kept his word. He cared about honor. His personal honor. The Maclean honor. He had never forgotten the stain that long ago ancestor had placed on the family name.

“If she wants to see you,” he said.

The Campbell did not say anything. Just waited.

Rory went to the door, leaving the remaining food and wine on the table. He turned. “A warning. Do not try to leave this room.”

He opened the door. A Maclean was standing outside.

Rory nodded to him and strode down the hall. He wanted the Campbell to think about what he had said. He did not want a quick answer. He also needed to talk to Felicia before going further.

He prayed he was doing the wise thing.

If he wasn’t, lives would be lost. If he misjudged the Campbell he could destroy the clan.

Either way, he would lose Felicia.

But then, he’d never had her.

Alina woke up when she moved in her sleep. Baron, who had been lying next to her, rose and stretched lazily, then nuzzled his mistress. The dog was obviously puzzled that she was not playing with him.

Alina reached out to touch him, then glanced up at Felicia. Her eyes widened as she saw the change. “Lady Felicia?” she asked.

“Aye,” Felicia said ruefully. She picked up a cup, filled it with water from a jug on the table, and offered it to Alina, who drank gratefully even as she kept darting glances at Felicia. Baron nuzzled his mistress again.

Just as Alina finished her water, her mother entered with a tray. She took a step back. Like her daughter, her eyes opened wide when she saw Felicia and her shorn hair.

“Milady,” she said, obviously shocked but too mannered to express it in words. “Oh my lady,” she said. “I did not expect you. I have been helping Moira with the cooking.”

“To Inverleith’s advantage,” Felicia said. “It smells very good.”

“Have mine, milady,” Alina said shyly.

“Nay, I cannot do that,” Felicia replied. “But I will have some later.”

She waited until Alina had sipped all the soup. When the child finished, Felicia started to open her mouth …

The door opened, and Rory stood in the doorway. “My lady, I wish to speak to you.”

“You said I could …”

“I did. It concerns another matter.”

His eyes were cool, his manner curt.

“But …”

“Now, Lady Janet.” He emphasized the last word.

Confused, she rose and accompanied him to the door. She turned around. “I am so pleased you are better,” she said to Alina.

Once in her chambers, she turned to him. “I do not understand. I thought …”

“The longer no one knows Felicia Campbell is here, the better,” he said gruffly.

“But Jamie …?”

“Only Lachlan and a few men know that you are Felicia Campbell. I have warned them all not to say anything.”

“I told Robina.”

“I talked to her. She will say nothing.”

“Why are you protecting me?”

He looked at her, and his gaze was searching. He touched her hair, and she flinched. Not from his touch but from how she knew she must look. “I am sorry you felt you had to cut your hair,” he finally said, “but you look … enchanting.” His hand fell, though, and his expression told her the observation came reluctantly.

Enchanting? Her?

His conscience must be saying the word. Still, his eyes had the same fire she had seen in them before.

The embers of the fierce attraction that always glowed between them flared, enveloping them in a circle of heat that was exquisitely seductive. She felt the gnawing need again, the ache for something unknown, yet compelling.

He hesitated. His eyes clouded, then as if drawn against his will, he slowly leaned down, his lips touching hers. His hands moved along the side of her neck as his mouth explored hers ever so slowly. She knew how foolish this was, yet a pulsating anticipation infused her body, and every part of her responded to him.

She had to return. She knew that. This had been a magnificent adventure but too many people were paying a price. She did not belong here, nor could she ever belong here.

But from the moment his lips had touched hers, she had been helpless to resist. He brought her to life. He made every nerve tingle and her heart beat faster and her blood heat.

She responded with a passionate desperation. This was a moment she could steal, could hold in her heart when …

His hand touched her face, and suddenly she realized tears were falling down her cheek. Not wanting him to see the weakness, she put her head against his chest.

Yet another mistake. She heard his heart’s rapid beat. She felt connected to him in a way she had never felt connected to another person, not even Jamie. A sense of belonging, of rightness.

She forced herself to pull back. She took a deep breath and wiped the back of her hand against her cheek to remove any evidence of tears. It could never be right. Realization was on his face, as she knew it must be on her own.

“Jamie?” she asked, knowing her cousin was but one obstacle between them.

His body stiffened. “He is in a room next to mine. And well fed.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“It wasn’t for you.” His announcement was stiff, curt. Miles apart from the kiss, from his touch.

“What was it for?”

He took steps away from her, putting distance between them. It did nothing to lower the temperature. It was as if streaks of lightning flashed between them.

“Tell me about your cousin,” he said.

She did not know whether he was asking because he really wanted to know or whether it was to ease the tension between them. She did not know how to answer him. What would help Jamie, and what might hurt him? “Jamie is smart and loyal.”

“A good son?”

She saw the trap. “He thinks for himself.”

“Can I trust him?”

The words hurt. He did not mean only Jamie. He was wondering whether he could trust her as well. “I am not sure what you are asking.”

“I think you are.”

“He will die before he breaks his word.”

His eyes turned to gray ice, and she did not understand why. His anger seemed to grow deeper whenever Jamie’s name was mentioned. It made her fear for him.

“You will let him go?” she asked.

“No,” he said bluntly. “He is valuable to me.”

It was obvious that though he had touched her, even kissed her, he had dismissed her in his mind and heart. But then what else could she have expected? Especially now that she had shorn her hair and looked more lad than lass.

“What can I do?” she finally asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “At the moment, nothing, my lady.”

No more Janet. Not even Felicia. She had become “my lady” again.

She looked at him, searching for more. She saw nothing there. “What about me?”

“You can stay as long as you wish.”

“It was my fault I ran into your men. I never should have tried—”

“What is done is done,” he cut her off.

She looked for a hint of the passion and gentleness she had felt before. It was gone, lost in that expressionless face and cool gray eyes.

She thought she knew why. He felt honor bound to protect her, but that put him, and his clan, in jeopardy.

She knew the penalty for treason. She could not allow either Jamie or Rory to pay it for her.

Desolation filled her. Emptiness. Pain.

She had no choice now. But then she never had.

She would find a way to reach Morneith on her own. And she would wed him.