“I told him that Earl Seoras was dead,” Tobias broke in, leaning forward, “and that you’ve sworn allegiance tae King Robert—”
“Aye, King Robert…” echoed Finnegan weakly, glancing from Tobias back to Cameron. “My mistress’s relation—”
“Your mistress?”
Finnegan gave the barest nod, and grimaced as if the very motion of swallowing caused him great pain. “Not much time, Laird… forgive me. I’m dying, but if she still lives… then our efforts will not have been for naught. We gave her much of what little food they threw down to us… our water. The other men—the healer told me they’re dead, God rest them forever. She will blame herself, I know it… my brave Aislinn…”
Cameron leaned closer as Finnegan grew still, closing his eyes, which made Cameron’s heart pound again.
“The young woman with you. Her name is Aislinn?”
“Aye, Aislinn De Burgh. Her father, William, is our lord and leader… and cousin to King Robert’s wife, Elizabeth. We came from Éire to fight for him… God help her, Aislinn stowed away on the ship. If I’d known, I would have stopped her… ah, please, water…”
Tobias immediately came forward and pressed a moist cloth to Finnegan’s lips, which barely moved now, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes.
“Will she live, Laird Campbell?” came his plaintive query as he met Cameron’s gaze. A bony hand, trembling, reached out to him, and Cameron clasped it. “Will she live?”
“The healer and I are doing what we can—everything we can for her,” he murmured. “She called out for her father… and another man, Daran—”
“Her brother,” Finnegan rasped. “Both taken prisoner… some of us, to this place… but them, we know not where. Lord De Burgh wounded and his son struck upon the head, so I fear—I fear—”
“Ease yourself, Finnegan,” Cameron cut in quietly, the man clutching his hand with what must be the last remnant of his strength. Already Finnegan’s grasp was weakening, his eyes starting to roll back into his head.
“Look after Aislinn, Laird Campbell… I beg you, and have patience. She’s not like other women…”
Cameron didn’t need Tobias to tell him that the man was breathing his last from the gurgling sound in his throat and the sudden limpness of his hand. Hoping that Finnegan could still hear him, he lowered his head to his ear.
“I will protect your mistress, Aislinn De Burgh, I swear it! Rest now, Finnegan, and go with God.”
No answer came, and Cameron hadn’t expected one. With the slightest last exhale of breath, the man was dead.
Sighing, Cameron drew up the sheet to cover Finnegan’s face, and turned to Tobias. “My thanks for summoning me. At least now we know more about the lass—”
“A noble’s daughter!” Tobias interjected, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “Dressed like a lad, her hair cropped short like a lad’s—och, and the men with her that died doing whatever they could tae help her survive. Their food, their water. A cousin of King Robert, no less, and a stowaway! What could it all mean?”
Grimly, Cameron shook his head as well and rose to stand over the cot. “See that Finnegan has a Christian burial—along with the others. If the lass survives, I’m certain she’ll wish tae see where they’ve been laid tae rest.”
“Aye, Laird.”
Cameron didn’t say anything further, his mind consumed by everything Finnegan had revealed as he strode back through the infirmary.
Aislinn De Burgh.
Aye, a noble name, a Norman name, her kinsmen no doubt of the lineage of knights and warriors who had conquered much of Ireland over a century ago. Yet to have come to Scotland to fight for King Robert… a treasonous act in the eyes of Edward, the English king.
A treasonous act most likely fueled by the fact that King Robert’s wife had been taken prisoner a year past by that same ruthless king, determined to grind Scotland beneath the heel of his boot—aye, it was easy for Cameron to surmise as much.
His loyalty had been first and foremost to Gabriel MacLachlan, but they had fought for Earl Seoras MacDougall, their sworn overlord—though that allegiance had come to grate upon him as much as it had Gabriel.
Always a tyrant, Seoras had grown worse upon inheriting the earldom from his late father, his ruthless ambition to become king of Scots knowing no bounds.
Seoras had slain his own clansmen in his attempt to claim the throne. He had even ordered the murder of Gabriel’s brother, Malcolm, and caused Gabriel to wed his lunatic sister, Magdalene MacDougall, in exchange for gold to help feed his starving people.
Cameron snorted, smiling wryly in spite of his dark mood, at the thought of the beauteous Mad Maggie who hadn’t been a lunatic at all—and who had so completely won Gabriel’s heart.
Aye, one could say that Cameron, Gabriel, Conall, and their kinsmen had committed treason as well, but Seoras—truly an evil man—had been put to the sword and tyranny overthrown. So Cameron could well understand what might have driven the De Burghs across the water to fight against their English sovereign in the name of their imprisoned cousin.
A father, William, a brother, Daran, and one long-limbed, red-haired young woman…
