“Then she will suffer the same justice as they. It is the law of England.”
For a terrifying instant Robert thought he would be the next to fall to his death when he shot to his feet, enraged, stunned, and quite literally dumbstruck. “By whose hand will she suffer, Uncle?”
Duncan’s tight shrug was his only answer to that particular query. “Let us hope she fights them even now.”
“I tell you if you harm her, I will stand with the MacGregors and see you dead! Christ.” Robert tore his fingers through his hair as another grave truth dawned on him. “My father was a sympathizer. He never spoke unkindly of the MacGregors. He never spoke of them at all.” His frenzied gaze fastened on Duncan. “Tell me truly who put the sword to him.”
Robert would have preferred it if Duncan shouted at him, erupted in indignant fury at what his nephew was suggesting. Instead, all he received was an icy smirk.
“What will it gain you to know of it now, Robert?” Duncan looked up at the heavy pewter clouds overhead. “Rain’s stopped.” He turned to the others, just ahead of them. “Let us continue.”
Robert did not move. He was certain that if he did, it would be to fling his uncle off the side of the cliff. Disbelief and disillusionment nagged at the edge of reason. Surely Amish or John would have told him if Duncan had been the one to cut their laird down. Mayhap they had not known, Robert considered. After all, the fatal wound had been inflicted from behind. Nae, nae, not his father’s own brother. Robert leaned over the high crag, fighting to keep the contents of his belly where they belonged.
Besieged by fury he had never known before, Robert leaped after his uncle and caught him by the shoulder. “Why did you do it?” he demanded, spinning Duncan around to face him. Both men teetered on the pebbly ledge. Duncan gripped Robert’s arms to steady himself.
“God slay you!” the earl spat angrily. “I swear I will do it myself if you unbalance me again.”
Robert’s voice rumbled like the distant thunder. “And I swear I will hurl you to the sea if you do not give me a reply.”
Duncan looked over his shoulder and gave the command for the others to continue on. Though he was certain they could not hear, he leaned into Robert’s shoulder and spoke in a quiet voice. “Very well, I will tell you.” When Robert felt the sharp sting of his uncle’s blade pressing against his ribs, he ground his jaw. “With a handful of his men,” his uncle whispered, “your father set out to find the savage who massacred his comrades. He did not intend to bring him to justice, but rather to deliver him to safety. I followed him. It was night when I found him. He and his men were asleep.” Duncan withdrew slightly and tilted his head up to look directly into Robert’s eyes, his own gaze mildly remorseful. “In truth, I hated killing him, but there is no place for regret in war.
“My father believed the Devil killed his son,” Duncan continued, unfazed by the murderous rage in his nephew’s eyes. “I could not tell him the truth, for though he hated sympathizers, he would not have understood.”
“Did Amish and John know?” Robert could barely keep his fury under control.
“Nae, but they were sympathizers, as well.” Duncan sighed when Robert closed his eyes with the realization of what had become of the two men who helped raised him and his sister. “They outlived their purpose, Robert. You had already left Glen Orchy, and Katherine was to come with me. You’ve no idea how I have worried over you both through the years.”
The sincerity in his voice was almost an extraordinary thing to hear. If Robert was not afraid of screaming until the cliffs around him crumbled, he would have opened his mouth to laugh.
“You worried we would become sympathizers,” Robert pointed out tightly.
“Nae, I visited often enough to see that that never happened.”
“It is true, I have hated the MacGregors all my life,” Robert said, hating even more the honor he cherished as a boy, the glory that had lured him away from his true duty of protecting his sister. “Had I not gone to Kildun, my sister would still be safe in Glen Orchy.”
“Soon”—Duncan placed his hand on Robert’s shoulder—“she will be safe once again in Inverary. I vow it.” When Robert said nothing, he turned and continued on his way along the edge.
Robert followed after him in silence, his features defined with steadfast determination to find his sister and mayhap, with the MacGregor’s aid, bring the true devil to justice.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
THE NEXT DAY and three men later, the Earl of Argyll crouched at the summit of a grassy incline and craned his neck to gaze at a castle just as black and impenetrable as the mammoth mountain wall looming over it. He snapped his mouth shut.
“This cannot be the MacGregor holding,” he said a moment later when his wonder switched to denial. “The old drunk must have directed us toward the wrong path and we have stumbled upon a MacLeod castle.”
The fortress ahead had to belong to the MacLeods, Duncan told himself over and over while he gaped. He refused to believe a rebel outlaw had such a magnificent holding. It was smaller than Kildun, but far too grand for a MacGregor. He let his steely gray gaze drift over the dozens of thatched-roof bothys scattered throughout the vale and felt his blood boil.
“They can see in every direction that matters,” Robert said, pointing to the Highlanders patrolling the battlements. He turned to his uncle. “What do you suggest we do now?”
“We wait here until nightfall, then make our way opposite the loch, along those hills where there is more shadow, and slip inside the castle.”
Robert snorted, “You’re mad. We will be shot down before we reach the front doors. And even if we do breach—”
“You will find the MacGregor and kill him while the rest of us search for Katherine. If you ever want to see her alive again, you will do as I say.”
The meager group of men waited atop the crest for night to fall, but darkness never came. Instead, a heavy mist rolled down the mountain wall, chilling their bones.
Duncan insisted they wait until the mist covered the entire vale. It was as good as darkness. Even better.
