Luckily, he let the topic drop and she was relieved. She was sick enough as it was, with Halloway’s proposal hanging over her head.
Chapter 9
“It’s coming, Campbell. Mark my words.”
Iain swirled the wine in his glass and contemplated the burgundy depths, feeling sick to his stomach over Captain Palmer’s predictions. They were sitting in the formal dining room after having finished a sumptuous dinner, the remains of which had been whisked away and replaced with a platter of cheese and grapes. They were enjoying their after-dinner wine, both leaning back in their chairs, their legs stretched before them. Palmer belched and popped open the buttons of his red coat to scratch at his stomach.
Iain first met Palmer through the Duke of Cumberland, a man Iain had been loosely acquainted with for some time. Cumberland introduced the two because Palmer was in charge of this area of Scotland. Iain had been flattered because it meant Cumberland trusted him and that he had a reliable source of information from the English military. Long nights such as this had yielded valuable information.
“There must be a way to compromise,” Iain said as he set his wineglass down on the dining room table and pushed it away. He’d invited Palmer for dinner because he’d wanted to discuss the recent fire, but Palmer was unaware who had started it and didn’t seem overly concerned, though he did insist it wasn’t the English. So Iain had learned nothing new but had to entertain the man anyway when all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for three days.
His mind drifted to the fire. Whether it was one man—MacGregor—or a more concerted effort by a handful of Scotsmen, Iain didn’t know. Hell, it could even be the English, but he doubted that, as he’d given them no reason to burn his crops. MacGregor had been a pain in his arse for years. Cait was right. MacGregor needed to end this anger over offenses that happened generations ago and work against the scourge that was eating Scotland alive.
“I think we’re beyond compromise,” Palmer was saying, bringing Iain back to the present discussion, which was far more frightening than anything MacGregor could think up. “It’s time for the Scots to recognize that England is not going away. Scotland is now under English rule, as it should be.”
“It’s a small portion of the Scots who are protesting,” Iain said, trying to make it appear that the Scots weren’t really a threat when, inside, he was seething at Palmer’s condescending attitude. The English considered the Scots barbarians. Especially the Highland Scots. But the real barbarians were the English.
“You’re delusional, my friend.” Palmer motioned for the servant to refill his glass. “I believe a much larger contingent of Scots are protesting. Damn, but I wish all of the stubborn Scots had as much common sense as you. You understand the English. You understand that we’re the greatest country on earth. Hell and damnation, Campbell, some countries would kill to be under our protection. We can only bring better times to the Scots, but they stubbornly cling to their old beliefs. It’s a new age now. Time to drag them all screaming and kicking into the modern era.” Palmer smiled and waved his now full glass toward Iain. “Not you, my friend. You are firmly on board with us, and let me tell you, we appreciate it. Maybe you can talk some sense into these savages.”
Iain smiled and chuckled with Palmer, all while trying to control his fury. The man was a bloody Englishsheep shagger,and Iain wanted to take his dinner knife and drive it through the man’s neck. But he pretended to agree while his thoughts went in a hundred different directions.
If Palmer was right, then the Scots were in terrible trouble. Far more trouble than they were in now. Palmer predicted that in a year the Scots would be stripped of their weapons and their way of dress. Worst of all, the clan system would be abolished. It had taken everything inside of Iain not to protest that prediction. How in the hell did the English think it was right to march into a country, take it over, and change its entire heritage?
If Palmer was correct, then Iain’s problems with MacGregor were nothing compared to the devastation that the Scots were facing.
As a young lad, Iain had been sent to live in Edinburgh with his uncle and aunt, who had educated him in the finer things of life. Edinburgh was so different from the Highlands, more English, for sure. He’d had a dance instructor and tutors who taught him French and mathematics. He’d been introduced to the best, most powerful families of the Lowlands. It was the way of the Campbell chief to learn like this, and it was why the Campbell leaders were more accepting of the English. When it was time, he’d been sent to Oxford to complete his education. It was there that he befriended many English nobles, sons of dukes and earls, who would later become dukes and earls themselves. He liked England. He liked the friends he made there, and he understood the English ways. But his heart and soul belonged to Scotland.
While in Edinburgh and then in England, he had missed the open skies of the Highlands and the clear air, unpolluted with smoke from thousands of homes. He missed the straightforward talk of a Highlander and the simple way of life. In the Highlands, if you were offended, you took it out on the person who offended you. In England, it was much more complex and…sneaky.
It was true that in the past, a Campbell’s loyalty shifted with the wind, but not Iain’s. He was steadfastly on the side of Scotland and had decided long ago that he would do whatever it took to save his people’s way of life. However, he’d learned from his predecessors and understood the need to remain in alliance with the English—or at leastpretendto be in alliance with the English.
So he entertained the English soldiers. He made friends with the officers who occupied his country because it benefited him and it benefited Scotland.
Many times he’d taken information that had come his way through nights such as this and passed it to the chiefs, who still didn’t trust him. Oh, he had a few who wondered if he was playing a deep game and occasionally gave him the benefit of the doubt. Brice Sutherland was one, Colin MacLean another. Iain had helped both out of tight situations with the English and had earned their loyalty.
It was a dangerous path he walked, and he lived in fear of being discovered by either side. He had few friends. Adair was one; John Campbell had been the other. But Iain was accustomed to loneliness, and in the end it was the price he paid to help Scotland.
But damn, taking away the weapons and the kilts? Disbanding the clans? Surely Palmer was wrong in this. It had to be a cruel rumor by some frustrated officer who’d said something in the heat of the moment. His people were a hardheaded bunch who didn’t take kindly to their way of life being threatened. Though “compromise” was a word rarely used in these parts, Iain was convinced it was needed. He just didn’t know how to achieve it.
“Do you think you can do it?” Palmer asked, pulling Iain from his thoughts.
“Do what?”
Palmer chuckled. “You’re woolgathering, my friend. Will you talk some sense into your fellow Scottish leaders? Convince them to cooperate with the English, and all will go well.”
“I can try, but they’re not usually open to my suggestions.”
Palmer leaned forward, suddenly serious. “You need to convince them. I’m telling you, Campbell, don’t take this lightly. The Scots will be wiped out if things don’t change. I’m talking big changes. As a soldier, I would hate to have my weapons taken away, and I can’t imagine the Scots will take it well, but it will happen if they don’t stop fighting us.”
The thought truly frightened Iain, and there were very few things that frightened him. “Tell me something, Palmer, why do you so desperately want me to get word to the chiefs about this? I thought you didn’t like the Scots.”
Palmer sat back and contemplated Iain for a long moment. “It’s true that I despised the Scots when I first arrived in the Highlands. But a man can change. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still completely loyal to England. But Scots like you have convinced me that there are some who can listen to reason. I’m damn tired of the war and of fighting. I just want there to be a more peaceful resolution.”
—
The next evening Iain’s mind was heavy with the thought of his burned fields, his stolen cattle, and Palmer’s predictions. He was thinking that he should bring the cattle in closer, but he needed to keep them out as long as possible; if he brought them in sooner, then he would go through what little feed he had faster. If he kept them out, then the drovers could—and probably would—steal them. There was no good answer to this predicament.
He entered his study and stopped short when he saw his secretary’s grim look. “I don’t want to know.” He fell into his chair and waited because Patrick would tell him anyway.
