Chapter Five

The Stewart Stronghold

Dunstaffnage Castle, Scotland

“Graeme!”

Eppie’s sharp voice coming from somewhere behind him cut through the cacophony of haunting memories from his time at the abbey.

“I’m busy!” he called back, arcing his sword overhead as his brother, Ross, had taught him to do a fortnight ago. Sweat dampened his hair, his underarms, his chest, and his back, and it trickled down his forehead to sting his eyes.

“Graeme, ye missed supper again!” Eppie bellowed.

“Woman, do ye nae have better things to do than nag me?” he teased, swinging his sword to his left and right, practicing the blocks Ross had shown him two days after they had arrived starving and exhausted, with his feet bloodied from their journey.

“I did nae keep ye alive all those years we were locked away only to lose ye to yer own foolishness,” she chided.

He didn’t bother to respond. The woman had always worried far too much about him, and it had gotten much worse since they’d escaped from the abbey and made their way back to the home he couldn’t recall and siblings he didn’t remember. He parried left, then parried right as fire leaped from one muscle to the next within his body, protesting their overuse. His heart hammered as he lunged, pivoted, and ducked, all while imagining a Campbell in front of him.

“Graeme, ye’ll kill yerself eventually if ye keep training so relentlessly!” Eppie yelled, her voice closer than before, indicating she was nearly upon him.

“Ross said I kinnae fight in the battles against the Campbells until I have mastered the sword.”

“It does nae matter now.”

Ross’s voice behind Graeme stopped him. Panting, he brought his sword down and turned, surprised to see not only Eppie and Ross standing there but his sister, Sorcha; her husband, Alasdair MacLachlan; and Ross’s wife, Grace.

“What’s this?” Graeme asked, sheathing his sword. His hand felt immediately empty, and he started to reach for his weapon once more but stopped himself. He had vowed long ago to never part with his sword if he ever had the good fortune of gaining possession of one, but he was not so consumed with revenge that he truly believed he could live out his life with it constantly in his hand. He could, however, live the rest of his life out with his sword on his person, which was what he’d done since being gifted one of his father’s swords the night he had arrived with Eppie.

He looked up to find five concerned gazes. “Are ye all going to just stare at me or is one of ye going to tell me why ye are all out here?”

“I received a missive from the king,” Ross said.

“I assume as laird of our clan ’tis nae so unusual for the king to send ye missives.”

“The king sends missives when he’s angry, when he’s traveling to ye, and when he wants a favor or has a demand,” Ross said, to which everyone except Eppie and Graeme nodded.

“Well, which is it?” he asked, wiping more trickling sweat from his forehead before it reached his eyes. The simple motion made him want to groan, but he clenched his teeth. He wasn’t about to admit he had likely overtrained. The sooner his brother cleared him to fight in battles against the Campbells, the better. He wanted nothing more than to destroy them as they had destroyed his family.

“’Tis anger and demands,” Ross said, but nothing in his brother’s veiled hazel gaze gave any clue as to how he felt about whatever the king had written.

Graeme swept his gaze over the group that he was still getting to know, and settled his attention on his sister, Sorcha, who was the frankest of them all. He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she returned it in kind before speaking.

“’Tis my fault,” she said, and a pained looked settled on her face. She glanced at her husband, and Alasdair shook his head, silently denying her claim. The simple gesture made her unclench her jaw and relax her shoulders. Graeme was glad his sister had someone who understood her so well that he knew just how to ease her. He could not think of looking for someone for himself before the Campbells were destroyed. There could be no peace until then.

“What is yer fault?” he asked.

“Brody Campbell is trying to take the land that would have been his by rights if I had nae broken the marriage betrothal between us,” Sorcha said.

“That betrothal was made by yer da before he kenned that Laird Campbell was a traitor to our king, and beyond that, ye were a wee lass!” Eppie said, huffing. “And,” she continued, her face reddening with her obvious outrage, “Brody Campbell had to have thought ye dead! He’s a man of thirty-odd summers! Why has he nae wed before now?”

“Eppie,” Graeme said, knowing she was vexed on Sorcha’s behalf, but it was not helping matters.

“’Tis all right,” Sorcha said. So much strife and tragedy had come to them at the hand of the Campbells, directly and indirectly. “The contract was binding, Eppie, and it stated that if I broke the betrothal, Da—or now Ross since he’s laird—would have to forfeit the lands Brody would have received as part of my dowry. Ross refused to forfeit the lands to the Campbell, though, and now we war.”

“’Tis nae yer fault,” Ross said.

“What does the missive from the king say?” Graeme asked.

“He’s called me and ye to court, as well as Laird Campbell and his sisters. He demands an end to the warring between our clans. If we are at war with each other, we are nae able to fight for him.”

“And how does the king mean to join two clans that despise each other?” Eppie demanded.

Eppie had taught Graeme all he knew about the Highlands, and he tensed now, recalling what she’d said about kings and their maneuverings of clans. “He intends to have me wed one of the laird’s sisters, doesn’t he?”

Ross nodded. All three women present released cries of protest, and Ross held up a silencing hand. “Do ye lasses think I’m going to stand back and allow my little brother to be chained for life to our enemy?”

Eppie, Grace, and Sorcha all shook their heads, to which Ross nodded with a satisfied look. It warmed Graeme to have the support of his brother, his sister, and his sister-in-law. In the months since he and Eppie had found their way here, he had grown close to Ross and Sorcha, and even Grace. She and Sorcha had a habit of mothering him as much as Eppie did. His connection had been instantaneous to them all, and even though he had no memories of his siblings, he had felt bonded with them, as all three of them had lived completely altered lives because of the Campbells. And all three of them wanted vengeance.

“What’s yer plan?” he asked Ross, because if he had learned anything about his older brother, it was that he always had a plan.

“We will ride hard and hopefully reach the king before the Campbells, and then we will tell him about yer and Eppie’s time at the abbey.”

“That we believe the old Laird Campbell sent us there, and that we believe Brody Campbell knew we were being held prisoner there?” Graeme clarified.

“Aye,” Ross said. “As ye told me after ye returned home, I ken ye dunnae remember the night of the attack upon our home, but with Eppie recalling the night clearly, her word will hopefully be enough to convince the king to grant us time to continue to search for Bernard, the monk Atholl, as well as the other monks and force them to tell the truth.”

“Bernard and Atholl will likely be the only ones to ken the truth. They were always huddled together, and the other monks simply did as bid.” Graeme shoved a hand through his hair. “I still kinnae believe the abbey was completely burned and empty,” Graeme muttered. “If we’d returned to the abbey for Bernard and Atholl the day Eppie and I had arrived here—”

“Dunnae do that to yerself,” Ross said. “Ye were half dead. ’Twas near a miracle ye could ride to the abbey with us only a fortnight after returning here.”

“Do ye honestly believe we will find a lead?” Graeme asked.

“Aye,” Ross replied. “We will. It just takes time, and what with my having to be here so frequently to deal with the clan war with the Campbells, it has been slow going, but if the king demands a pause to the clan war, I can focus all my attention on tracking Bernard and Atholl.”

“I hope to be as good of a tracker as ye one day,” Graeme said.

Ross grinned. “Ye will be. Ye are already better than most with the little I’ve had time to teach ye. ’Tis in our blood.”

“The king would be a fool to think Brody Campbell had no notion his father was holding me and Graeme prisoner at the abbey all these years,” Eppie grumbled.

“Careful with yer words, Eppie,” Ross cautioned. “The king would nae take kindly to hearing ye call him a fool.”

Eppie frowned. “I said he ‘would’ be foolish, nae that he currently is.”

Ross’s brows dipped together at Eppie, and Graeme suspected his brother was worried about what she might say to the king at Court.

“Eppie, ye’ll need to simply tell the king what ye recall of the night the Campbells and the Lord of the Isles attacked our home,” Graeme cautioned.

“I more than recall that night!” Eppie said, her gaze gleaming. “’Tis clear as a sky on a perfect sunny day. I had taken Graeme to the kitchen to brand him as yer da ordered.”

Graeme nodded, having heard the story of how Eppie had branded him so he’d be easily identifiable as a child of his da’s if the worst should come to pass. He thought briefly about reminding Eppie that everyone now knew all the details of the story, given she’d told it several times when requested by Ross, then Sorcha, then the Campbell counsel, but once Eppie got started, she was hard to stop. He caught Ross’s eye and gave a shrug of helplessness to which Ross smiled understandingly.

“Laird Campbell himself caught us in the kitchen that night after the attack while I was branding Graeme, and he ordered Bernard to hang us! I thought we were surely going to die, and I fainted! When I awoke, I was tied up and slung over a horse, as was Graeme!” she said. “And the last person I saw as we rode away from the courtyard was Brody Campbell watching us depart. I vow the man must have convinced his da nae to kill us and lock us away instead! I’ll tell the king this, and surely, he will see that the man willingly went along with his da to overthrow the king and keep us imprisoned, and the king will nae need any more proof!”

“I’m sorry, Eppie,” Ross said, “but he’ll nae take yer word over Brody Campbell’s. The man is powerful and has given the king much gold. But if we can find Bernard or Atholl and they corroborate what ye say, I do believe the king will accept it, and he would be wary to leave any man in power who turned a blind eye to treason, even if the other traitor was his father.”

“What else are ye going to propose to the king, Brother?” Sorcha asked before Graeme could.

“I’m going to propose that he nae wed Graeme to one of the Campbell sisters but handfast him to one of them instead. That will buy us time for our search, without Graeme being bound for life to a Campbell.”

“And if we kinnae find Bernard or Atholl?” Graeme asked.

“If we kinnae find Bernard or Atholl, we must get the proof another way,” Ross said.

“What other way could there possibly be?” Sorcha demanded.

“I dunnae ken yet, unless one of the other monks kens something,” Ross replied, “which is why we must delay the king’s orders to wed Graeme to a Campbell.” Ross held Graeme’s gaze. “A handfasting is nae permanent as long as ye dunnae bed the lass ye handfast with. That is the only way to make the handfasting an unbreakable marriage contract. We will ask the king to give us time for ye to handfast and prove our case. And hopefully, he will agree.”

“And if we kinnae prove it?” Sorcha asked of their brother.

Ross’s gaze did not waver from Graeme’s. “I will nae ask ye to bind yerself for life to a woman ye could nae ever trust, but mayhap the Campbell lasses did nae ken of their father’s treasonous nature.” Ross’s gaze went to his wife Grace, and high color rose in her cheeks.

She cleared her throat and looked to Graeme and Eppie. “I asked Ross to let me be the one to tell ye both that I was a MacDonald before I wed Ross.”

“A MacDonald?” Graeme asked, certain he’d not heard correctly, but the blush that crept from Grace’s face to her neck told Graeme had had heard perfectly. He frowned. Mayhap, it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Mayhap, his brother’s wife was a very distant relation to the other man responsible for attacking their home years before, the vicious Lord of the Isles, Graeme’s father’s former closest ally. “Are ye a close relation of the Lord of the Isles?”

Grace bit her lip before nodding.

Eppie sucked in a sharp breath, and Graeme’s blood began to rush in his ears. “How close?” he asked.

“My father was the Lord of the Isles,” she nearly whispered. Ross reached out, took her hand, and drew her to his side.

“Is yer da dead?” Eppie asked, and Graeme could tell by her pinched lips it was an effort for her to ask the question as nicely as she could.

Grace shook her head. “Nay, but I ken ye know he was stripped of all his titles and ousted from the clan. He went to the Hebrides, because he retained land there, but Angus Ogg, his kin, refused him shelter. I dunnae ken where he is now,” she said, tears shimmering in her eyes. “But I have heard he is trying to raise an army.”

“For what purpose?” Graeme asked, trying not to sound harsh. Grace’s father, after all, had helped to murder his parents and destroy his home.

“To gain back his land from Angus, I imagine,” she said. “’Twas greed that drove him to do what he did to yer father, and ’tis greed that still drives him, apparently.”

“Why did ye nae tell us who ye were?” Eppie asked, her tone less than friendly now.

Graeme saw Ross stiffen, but he did not say anything. “I did nae tell ye because I wanted ye to ken me before ye knew my father had been Lord of the Isles, so that mayhap ye would nae hate me. I did nae ken what my father had done, and the moment I did, I found it unforgiveable. Mayhap, the Campbell lasses are the same?”

“Nay,” Graeme answered. “Ye forget Maisie Campbell came to the abbey. She knew we were there.”

Grace frowned. “She knew what her brother had told her, but that was likely nae the truth of who ye were, if he were trying to keep it secret, which I assume he was. The less people who knew of his treason, the easier to keep it secret.”

“I dunnae trust unless it is earned,” Graeme said, flatly, making no apologies for feeling the way he did, and before Grace or his brother could ask, he said, “Ye have shown complete loyalty to my family since I have returned, and my brother clearly trusts ye, so I will as well.”

“I appreciate that, Graeme. Ye should keep in mind that the Campbell lasses may be trustworthy as well.”

“Or they may be liars just like their brother, and since I dunnae ken which it is, and they have nae proved themselves to me or anyone I ken, I will nae, I kinnae just give them trust.” Nor, frankly, did he want to. The idea of being wed to a Campbell was more than he cared to swallow. His brother had not spent his life a prisoner as Graeme had, so mayhap trust had come easier for Ross, but for Graeme trust would be a thing earned with nothing less than proof of complete loyalty and honor or else it would not be given.