Even though he had the privilege of his own cell, he’d known enough to not let his guard down. He couldn’t have slept if he’d wanted to. The noise of the Scottish prisoners never ceased. They were sick and retching, moaning, even in some cases crying. They called for guards, pleaded for their wives and mothers. They were hungry, thirsty, sick, they stank, and they were dying.
He tried to close his mind to it by thinking of Cait, but all he could see were her bruises, and that put him in a rage. Rage was good. Rage would get him through the night. Rage would remind him why he was here—protecting his Cait. He couldn’t imagine Cait in this cell. Well, he could imagine it. She’d be demanding to treat the prisoners.
They came for him in the dead of the night, when he’d just began to doze. They dragged him out, three disheveled redcoats minus their coats, drunk and angry and looking for someone to take it out on.
He was no match for them, though he tried his best to fight back. It might have been three against one, but they were under the effects of alcohol, clumsy and slow. He managed a few good blows. One was rolling on the ground clutching his ballocks; another was bleeding from a broken nose. The third was teetering, eyeing him with one eye closed, when Palmer came storming down the corridor and took the third soldier by the back of his collar.
Palmer and a few other officers dragged the three off while someone threw Iain back in his cell. Iain sank to the ground and leaned against the rough, wet wall. Something was dripping down the side of his face, and he was fairly certain it was blood. His right pinky finger throbbed—probably broken—and his jaw ached from a vicious blow.
He leaned his head back and let despair wash over him. It was rare that he let himself wonder if it was worth it. He normally tried never to think such things for fear of sucking himself into a depression that might immobilize him. But tonight his positive thoughts had deserted him.
There had been so many times in his life when he’d thought of giving up, of being the man everyone thought him to be—the traitor, the mercenary who sold his name and his soul for coin and land. But his love for Scotland and the fierce, prideful people who lived here wouldn’t let him give up. And so he continued to play his games, to spy for both sides and hope that he was doing the right thing. All those years of putting himself in danger had come to this. Would his English acquaintances give him the benefit of the doubt, or would they turn on him?
If the English saved him, then he would forever be branded a traitor, shunned by all of the Scottish chiefs and not just the majority who shunned him now. He would be trusted by no one, and his entire operation would fall apart if no one would listen to him. If he died, his fellow Scots would still think of him as a traitor. Either way, he would die a dishonorable death, and he would leave Cait alone again. Another death in her life. Another person who abandoned her.
In the morning Palmer appeared at the barred door to his cell. Iain was in no mood to stand and greet his jailor.
“Colonel Rutherford wants to question you,” Palmer said gravely.
“Not Cumberland?”
“He’s not here at the moment. Rutherford is acting in his stead.”
That wasn’t good. Iain didn’t know Rutherford. He’d not even heard of the man, which meant he was probably fairly new to Scotland and therefore not aware of Campbell’s work with the English.
Stiff and sore, Iain grimaced as he stood and then walked to the door. His pride took a direct hit when he had to wait for Palmer to unlock it.
“You didn’t do it, did you?” The English soldier searched Iain’s face, but the mask that Cait hated so much was in place, and Iain wasn’t giving anything away. Palmer was the closest English friend he had, but Iain no longer trusted him. He was a prisoner, brought here by Palmer, accused of killing an English soldier. He could not allow himself the luxury of trusting anyone.
“Colonel Rutherford is waiting,” Iain said.
They emerged into weak sunshine that had Iain blinking, and walked across a wide area of packed dirt where the soldiers probably congregated for revelry. On the right were the soldiers’ barracks. On the left were what appeared to be officers’ quarters and offices, and sitting innocently about fifty yards ahead of him was the platform where prisoners were whipped and occasionally hanged. Iain shuddered and looked away.
They entered the building that he assumed housed the officers, and walked up a set of steps. The last time he’d come here had been to assist Sutherland when his wife faced her jailor and tormenter. Later, he’d helped break MacLean free.
Yes, he’d done his duty to Scotland. Sutherland was married to the English lass and still running his underground system. And MacLean…Well, MacLean had shocked them all and become an honest man, taking over his duties as clan leader but still managing one of the biggest smuggling operations in Scotland, bringing banned tea, wine, and fabrics into the country and basically tormenting the English soldiers with his activities.
Now it was Iain’s turn to reside in Fort Augustus, but he wasn’t certain that he was going to get out of this mess. Admitting to killing an English soldier was a hanging offense. He’d asked Cait to call on Sutherland and MacLean for help, but he wasn’t certain that they could help him.
A tall blond soldier stood behind a large desk. With thin lips and cold gray eyes, he looked Iain up and down. So this was the way it was going to be. He’d be tried and judged by a man he didn’t know. All of the English contacts he’d made were for naught.
“Campbell, is it?” Rutherford asked.
“Lord Iain Campbell,” he said, refusing to allow the young pup the upper hand. “Marquess of Kerr and Earl of Corrington.”Let that sink in for a bit,he thought. He might be Scottish, but he also possessed an English title, and that would make it harder to condemn him.
“I’ve heard of you,” Rutherford said. That statement could go both ways, and Iain wasn’t about to ask which way Rutherford meant. “I understand that you have confessed to the killing of Lieutenant Donaldson of the English Royal Horse Guards.”
“I have.”
“Care to tell me why you killed Lieutenant Donaldson?”
“He attacked my betrothed and dragged her out into the woods to have his way with her.”
Rutherford raised his brows. “And he told you this? He revealed his plans to you?”
Iain’s back teeth came together at the man’s arrogance. Good Lord, he hoped he’d never sounded this arrogant.
“He approached Cait Campbell on the road a few days before and told her that she was to make herself available for his attentions later that night. Mrs. Campbell came to me very frightened; she didn’t feel safe going back to her own home. Captain Palmer and I were at Mrs. Campbell’s cottage when Donaldson arrived at the time he told Mrs. Campbell he would be there. Palmer told him to leave Cait alone. The next day Donaldson was reassigned to a division in the northern Highlands, but instead of following orders and reporting to his new division, he returned to Cait’s cottage and attacked her with the intention of having his way with her and then killing her.”
