It’s either him or me, he reminded himself. On some level he’d always known that.
That damn map.He’d just wanted to make Duncan look foolish, instead it was he who’d been fooled. Grant had used him. Used his jealousy against his brother. And Colin had trusted him, thinking himself engaged to Grant’s daughter. The devil’s spawn Grant had betrayed them both, and Colin had been forced to hide the gold to cover up his part in the debacle.
The note had been the last straw. Colin had recognized the feminine lettering and known that it was from her.Mybetrothed. Duncan knew they were engaged, but he’d gone to meet her anyway. He’d fucked his bride, damn him. Like he was probably fucking her now. Anger dulled any sympathy he might have felt for his brother. Duncan deserved exactly what he got.
Unlike their father. He’d never wanted his father to be hurt, but with what he’d threatened after Colin admitted to knowing about Duncan’s feelings for Jean Grant before proposing the betrothal, perhaps it was better that he did.I should have made Duncan my heir.Colin had been outraged. Humiliated. But he hadn’t believed he would actually do it—not until his deathbed ramblings sent any icy chill down his spine.
Colin buckled the scabbard at his waist and tucked the two brass-handled pistols into his belt as his men finished clearing the camp on the small forested hill above the village where they’d slept. It was about an hour before dawn—the perfect time to catch them unaware. He knew Duncan had only a handful of men with him, but he did not underestimate his brother. Duncan did, however, have a weakness. Colin just had to get his hands on her.
Why couldn’t Duncan have stayed away? The moment Colin had heard his brother was back on Scottish soil he’d known what he would be forced to do. He hoped Duncan gave him a reason. He didn’t want to have to shoot his brother in the back.
Duncan walked the short distance to the inn from the beach, trying to shake the water from his hair. But the frozen clumps snapped against his cheeks, releasing little—if any—of the icy sea water. Overnight the mist had settled low around the island in a damp, bone-chilling fog that the dawn had yet to thaw. But cold had never bothered him. He’d been raised in the Highlands near the sea; he was used to it. Though admittedly, not all Highlanders swam in the sea in the middle of winter. Perhaps he had more Norse blood in him than he realized.
The village was quiet, but showing the first signs of life as he approached. Gentle swirls of smoke billowed out of the rooftops as the servants lit the morning fires.
It had been a long night. When he’d left Jeannie he’d joined his men in the public room below. He’d been wound tight, looking for a way to unleash the dangerous emotions swirling inside him. It was either fight or drink, and as he did not trust himself not to kill someone, he chose the latter.
Gauging his dark mood, Conall and Leif gave him a wide berth. A handful of tankards of the innkeeper’s bestcuirm, however, had barely taken the edge off his anger or the gnawing burning in his chest.
He’d spent a few restless hours before the fire, before giving up on sleep and deciding to try to clear his thoughts in the sea. But the clarity he’d hoped to find in the icy waters had eluded him.
I have a son.It was still difficult to comprehend. But what the hell was he going to do about it? Make him a bastard? He better than anyone knew what that was like. He’d come to terms with his birth, but it hadn’t been easy. Could he foist that kind of black mark on his son?
Why hadn’t she told him earlier?Because she didn’t trust you.Why should she?You left her.
He shook off the annoying voice. He didn’t want to see her side, his anger was still too damn raw.
He turned the corner around the empty market stalls and the inn came into view. As always, he scanned his surroundings. Something was wrong: The Gordon guardsman he’d left was not in position.
Senses honed, he realized it was too quiet. Too still.
He looked down at the muddy ground and saw the unmistakable signs of footprints coming from all directions around the building. A score of men—at least. He suspected there were others positioned in and around the building, hidden in the backdrop of trees. Too many for the handful of men he had with him, particularly since Leif had left early this morning to scout the castle. He took a few steps back out of view, but they’d already seen him. His skin prickled with the sensation of being watched.
It was a trap. One in which he would not be caught.
Then he remembered. He swore, dread settling low in his belly. Jeannie. He’d left her alone, and in doing so had given them the perfect weapon. His muscles flared and fists clenched. If they hurt her, touched her in any way, they would not see another sunrise. He didn’t care if there was an entire army in there.
His eyes darted to the second floor window, not seeing any movement. He tried not to let it alarm him, but she had to have heard the noise below when the men rushed in. If she wasn’t in her room, it meant she was—
A muffled woman’s scream tore through the morning air, turning his blood to ice.
Without hesitation he ran.
About twenty feet from the door, the loud shot of musket fire pierced the quiet morning air.
Colin couldn’t believe it. It had been almost too easy—well, except for the big Irishman. His men had taken the inn with nary a shot fired, a dirk had taken care of the sole guardsman outside, and the other men had been virtually helpless while they slept, only to discover that neither his brother nor Lady Jean Gordon were here. His fury was nearly uncontrollable, buoyed by fear that they’d found something.
The wounded Irishman and the four Gordon guardsmen had been bound and gathered in a group on the floor. The innkeeper, his wife, and his young daughter had also been brought to him. “Where are they?” he demanded of the big man.
Blood was gushing from the Irishman’s nose and cheek where his face had been smashed by the butt of a musket, but he smiled and asked, “Who?”
Colin barely contained his irritation. Only his desire to catch his brother prevented him from ordering the man killed instantly. “The outlaw Duncan Dubh.”
The burly red-haired man shrugged. “I don’t know any outlaws.”
Colin put the barrel of his pistol right under the man’s chin. “Are you sure about that?”
The big man didn’t flinch. “Aye.”
