Duncan glanced over his shoulder and regarded MacIain. The man has a mean streak, no doubt. But abuse his wife? Surely he would know raising a hand against Helen would put a grave strain on our alliance. An annulment granted by the Pope? Why in God’s name was I not consulted?
Duncan needed to dig to the bottom of this quandary. He faced the Ardnamurchan chieftain. “Your news is disturbing indeed. I shall take immediate steps to seek a resolution and inform you of my findings. Please, ’tis St. Crispin’s Day. Sit at the high table and enjoy the feast. On the morrow, you can return to Ardnamurchan.”
The man’s face grew even redder. “Do you think I’m planning to tuck my tail and head back to Mingary on the morrow?”
After folding the velum, Duncan slipped it inside his doublet. “I suggest that’s exactly what you should do. Dealings with my family are best left in my hands.”
The bald-headed chieftain moved his fists to his hips, forgetting who was lord of this castle. “Are you planning to pay a visit to the Bishop of the Isles? Because he’s next on my list, and I’ll not be as pleasant with him.”
Every bit as tall as the over-stuffed codfish, Duncan stared him in the eye, nose to nose. “Are you threatening to raise a hand against my brother, His Worship, the most revered holy man in the Highlands?”
Aleck’s tongue shot across his bottom lip. “He secretly obtained an annulment for your sister under false pretenses.”
The more I think on it, the more I doubt Helen’s claims are unfounded.
“I will uncover the truth.” Duncan pointed to the door. “I suggest you do as I say and find a place in the hall. Your accusations against my family are not taken lightly and will not be treated as such if I discover the assertions in that missive are true.”
Aleck narrowed his steely eyes for a moment, and then held his palms up. That he’d just exercised restraint was obvious. Had he lashed out, it would have been the action Duncan needed to take the man to his knees. But five years ago, he’d made an alliance with MacIain, and that pact had proved fruitful in bringing the MacDonald uprising to an end. This situation with Helen needed to be investigated before relations grew worse.
Duncan bowed and gestured to the door. “If you please.”
He waited until MacIain had made his way to the dais. God bless Meg, she welcomed the bastard with outstretched arms and summoned the servants to tend him at once. Duncan gestured to Mevan, the old man-at-arms who had been loyal to the Campbells since the early days. “Ride to Glen Strae and fetch Eoin MacGregor at once. Tell him his presence is needed urgently.”
“Straight away, m’lord.”
“We’ll leave for Dunollie at dawn. I shall have a word with Lady Gyllis before proceeding on to Iona. Perhaps she’s seen Lady Helen”
Duncan rose early and gathered his retinue by the stables. God’s teeth, there wasn’t a bloody MacGregor man in sight, yet the Kilchurn man-at-arms sat on a barrel and watched the men ready their horses. “Mevan, where the blazes is Eoin?”
“He’s not in Glen Strae, m’lord.”
What more would go wrong with this unsettling news? “Are you sure? He left Oronsay before any of us.”
“Aye, but he moored his galley at Taynult and sent his men home—they said he took a horse and headed south.”
“God on the cross, what business did he have south?”
Mevan looked like he’d swallowed a bitter tonic. “I-I didn’t ask.”
“Never mind. When he returns, tell him I’ve gone to Dunollie and then to Iona. I need his help in locating Lady Helen. MacGregor has the sharpest nose for tracking in all of Scotland.”
The old man-at-arms always remained behind to take charge of the castle guard in Duncan’s absence. “I will, m’lord.”
Duncan grabbed his horse’s reins and mounted. “Come lads, we’ve no time to waste.”
He led them through the yard to the main trail that would take them twenty miles to the west coast.
They’d been moving a steady trot for a good while when Aleck MacIain and his men galloped up behind them. “I had a change of mind this morn.”
Duncan urged his horse a bit faster. “I thought I told you to return to Mingary.”
The bastard kept pace like a pesky fly. “You did, but my galley is moored at Dunstaffnage.”
“Very well, we’ll part ways at the V in the road.”