up against the pillows, his arm in a sling across his waist. The chieftain frowned when they entered—looked directly at Helen and narrowed his eyes.
She glanced toward Grant. Now what have I done?
“Exactly why did you command Mistress Mary to tend the pigs?” Aleck drove straight to the point.
Helen rolled her eyes to the ceiling. For goodness sake. Was she to be reprimanded for taking charge when it was her duty to do so? Of course her husband would give no accolades for her work in holding the castle after he’d abandoned her and ridden east.
She sighed. “I assigned duties to everyone. Mistress Mary was idle and the livestock needed tending. After all, she manages her chickens. I saw no harm in asking her to tend the pigs as well.”
“It was demeaning for her.”
Something inside Helen’s heart snapped while a flash of heat seared across the back of her neck. “You are serious? And you think rejecting me in front of the clan and bellowing for your leman does nothing to subjugate my honor?”
“I knew it.” Aleck slammed his fist into the mattress. “You lashed out at Mistress Mary in a jealous rage because I prefer the widow in my bed.”
“I did no such thing.” She pointed toward the door. “Ask Mr. Keith. He was there. I was simply preparing to defend the keep against attack. Which, by the way, I managed to do whilst you were breaking your arm in Sunart.”
“Hold your tongue, you wicked shrew.” Aleck pulled his dagger from beneath his pillow and pointed it at her.
With her heart thundering in her chest, Helen skittered toward the door. He’d never threatened her with a weapon before.
“You are fortunate I am abed, else I would take great pleasure in cutting out your barbed tongue.”
Helen clapped a hand over her mouth. From the evil glare in his eyes, she didn’t doubt he could do it. Trembling, she scuffled aside. How dare he threaten her for speaking out against a woman who had lowered herself to that of a whore? Her eyes rimmed with tears.
Sir Grant stepped forward. “M’laird. I think Lady Helen acted with the courage of a warrior. She managed to keep the MacDonalds at bay until we arrived—”
“Oh really? And who pays your wages, you irreverent beef-witted codpiece? As I recall, Alexander MacDonald was bashing through the sea gate with a battering ram when we arrived. Lady Helen did nothing but issue orders and fire a few paltry arrows as I’ve heard it reported.”
She threw her fists to her hips. “We sank one of the MacDonald galleys!”
He slashed his dagger through the air. “You nearly destroyed my brand new cannon.”
“Preposterous!” Helen’s mind raced. Who would deceive her thus? Or would Aleck twist the truth so he didn’t appear incompetent? By all the saints, she dare not utter another word, else Aleck would make good on his threat.
He pointed the ridiculous dagger at Sir Grant. “Take her to the dungeon. Allow her to see no one—especially that shrieking little brat she birthed.” Then he glowered at Helen. “Whilst you rot, think about your station here and about what I care for. Your role is to please me and provide my heir.”
Every muscle in her body clenched. She had to say it, though the thought made ice course through her blood. “How can I fulfill my duty if you will not return to my bed?”
Throwing the dagger at the floor, Aleck barely missed Helen’s feet. She skittered into Sir Grant.
Her husband’s steely eyes filled with hate. “Your place is not to question me.”
Grant seized her arm. “Come, m’lady.”
“No!” She struggled to wrench her arm free from the henchman’s grasp. “My place is not to be locked in the dungeon when I have committed no crime. I am a Campbell, daughter of the legendary Lord of Glenorchy. My father was Scotland’s hero.”
Aleck sneered. “Unfortunate you are not more like him.”
I am my father’s daughter and you can never take that away from me.
Grant again tugged on her arm and pulled her into the passageway.
Helen stumbled over her skirts. “I am no common criminal!”
“You are and have always been a thorn in my side!” Aleck’s hateful bellow echoed through the stony corridor.
Chapter Eighteen
On the second floor of Dunstaffnage Castle, Eoin sat with Lord Duncan and King James in the king’s solar and stared at the map on the table in front of them. They’d gone over the plan so many times, the topography of the west coast of Scotland was permanently