But one question haunted him. He’d dreamed of clearing his name and proving his innocence for ten long years, thinking it would be enough. But would it?
On the continent he’d achieved everything he’d ever wanted—satisfied his ambition twice-over. But no win on the battlefield could fill the emptiness inside him. He feared only one person could do that.
Jeannie sat on a boulder in a secluded corner of the courtyard along the south wall, her chin in her hands, content to sit and watch her son for hours. She was so proud of him. Dougall had taken to his training with enthusiasm, blossoming under Jamie Campbell’s tutelage. With his shock of dark auburn hair, big blue eyes, and handsome boyish features, he still resembled the child she’d held in her arms more than the man he would become. It had always bothered her son that he was smaller than the other boys of his age—more so if taking into account his real age—but she was happy to see he’d gained confidence in the short time he’d been here.
This was the first opportunity they’d had since she arrived three days ago for her son to demonstrate his progress. Winter had relented long enough for her to sit outside. It was still cold, but the snow that had stormed down upon them for the last week had abated, revealing the sun that had seemed forgotten behind the thick curtain of gray.
Dougall drew back the bow, aimed at the butt about fifty paces away and let the arrow fly.
He let out a whoop and turned to face his mother. “Did you see that?”
Jeannie laughed and clapped her hands. “Of course I saw it. It was a magnificent shot, right in the middle. You’ve obviously been practicing.”
He seemed to grow five inches, his narrow shoulders stretched as wide as they could go. “Every day.” He made a face. “It’s the onlyrealweapon we’re allowed to use.”
Thank God!The thought of her nine-year-old son with a steel blade in his hands made her stomach queasy. But try explaining that to a boy who’d been waiting to hold a sword in his arms since the age of two when he’d toddled over to Francis and managed to pull his dirk from its scabbard.
Dougall was much like his father: Warfare was in his blood.
Her chest pinched at the thought of Duncan. He’d seemed so distant and angry on their journey, and it had only gotten worse after the incident with the Campbell soldiers at the inn. That had been close. Too close. Her skin still crawled when she thought of that soldier’s eyes on her. But the distraction had worked. She pursed her lips. Not that she’d get any thanks from Duncan. Instead of gratitude, he acted as if she were the whore of Babylon. Well, next time, she thought angrily, he could save himself.
Duncan’s mood hadn’t improved any since their arrival at Castleswene. Despite her efforts to avoid him, he watched her with a hot, predatory intensity that augured a reckoning. From across the hall she would feel his eyes on her, and her body would prickle with awareness. Suddenly self-conscious, her hands would start to flutter, her laugh would turn high-pitched, and her mind would start to wander from her conversations.
He had her completely on edge and unnerved. The way she always was around him. You think she’d be used to it.
She realized Dougall was waiting for her to respond. Ah yes, swords. “I’m sure you will be allowed to practice with steel as soon as the captain determines you are ready.”
Hopefully Jamie Campbell would find that day averylong time in coming.
“Wooden swords are for bairns. All the other boys use steel.” Never one to complain for long, Dougall added, “But the captain says as soon as I can hit the target nine out of ten times from fifty paces with my bow, I can learn to use a gun.”
Mother Mary.Jeannie repressed a shiver, while her son’s eyes lit up with excitement. She knew there was no fighting it. Guns had steadily made their way into the Highlands over the last generation and anyone who could afford one needed to learn to use it. Even she had learned to use a pistol—with nearly deadly results.
Dougall frowned. “I don’t see why I can’t start practicing now. In a few more years, no one will be using swords and bows anymore anyway.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
Jeannie’s heart stopped at the sound of his voice, and then suddenly rushed with panic. She looked over her shoulder to see that Duncan had come up behind her. He was staring at Dougall, an enigmatic expression on his face.
She wanted to jump up and throw her arms around her son, to cover him up, to protect him. But she forced herself to calm. But how could she when everything she’d struggled for hung in the balance?
She’d known this meeting was inevitable—they were bound to cross paths at some point—but the moment she’d been dreading since she first realized it was Duncan who she’d shot was upon her.
Chapter 17
Duncan didn’t look at her, but took a few strides toward Dougall. “A warrior must learn to use any weapon at his disposal. But the first weapon of choice to a Highlander will always be his sword.” He took a pistol out of his belt and handed it to Dougall. “Take it.” Jeannie opened her mouth to object, but he cut her off. “Don’t worry, it’s not loaded.”
Dougall practically tore it from his hands. Duncan stepped back a few paces. “Try to shoot me.”
The boy looked at him uncertainly before lifting the pistol and pointing it right at his chest. Duncan moved with the speed of lightning. Before Dougall could cock the gun, he’d reached over his shoulder, pulled the two-handed great sword from its scabbard, and landed a blow on Dougall’s arm hard enough to make him drop the gun.
Dougall made a sound of pain and held his upper arm where the blow had landed. Jeannie leaped to her feet, but her son’s expression of horror checked her and kept her from running to him. He wasn’t hurt and didn’t need his mother treating him like a bairn, especially in front of another warrior.
Dougall reached down, picked up the pistol, and handed it back to Duncan. “How’d you do that? I’ve never seen anyone move so fast.”
“Practice,” Duncan said, returning the weapon to the belt at his waist. “Hours and hours of practice. Even if you had managed to get the shot off with a gun you have only one chance. My sword will be faster than your ability to reload every time. The Highland sword is a noble weapon, a part of our history. A symbol of our past, passed on through each generation.”
Dougall was listening to him with ill-concealed awe, no doubt having heard the speculation of Duncan’s true identity. Jeannie just wanted to bury her head in her hands and cry at the look of rapt adulation on his face.
