When they left Linlithgow, her benefactor Lord Huntly had insisted that Celia keep her identity a secret. There were many good reasons for it, and Huntly wanted her and Kit out of harm’s way while he focused on reorganizing what was left of the Stewart court. Lord Huntly was the most powerful noble left at court, and he intended to see that Stewart rule would continue as the unifying force in Scotland. He had told them that if they found themselves in danger, they were to seek out the earl of Argyll, who would shelter them until a more settled time.
They had thought they would be safe at Caithness Hall, and they had been--for nearly five months. With Lord Caithness dead and Lady Caithness with her family in England, Edmund’s presence had been a welcome one at the Manor Hall. Edmund had been a close friend to Lord Caithness for many years, and his face was a connection with less troubled times. So they had become guests in a Hall that housed many noble families uprooted in the turbulent days following Flodden. With so many widows in Scotland, her true identity had never been questioned. She was Edmund’s niece, and that had been enough for the retainers left to manage the manor.
But Celia knew now that the devil Danvers would not stop until he had found them. She had been promised to the Englishman long ago. Celia was the daughter of John Muir and granddaughter of the Duke of York. It was not her rank or her money that he had originally desired that drove him on, but rather the hatred that he carried for her. She had wounded and rejected him. His honor had been injured.
Danvers had to be put off the track somehow.
“You could become Lady Caithness, Celia,” Edmund suggested thoughtfully. “She has a bairn, as well.”
“Will they not know the truth?” she asked uncomfortably. “Lady Caithness was quite well known at court.”
“Most likely not,” Edmund continued. “The Campbells were never ones for court society. I can tell you one thing, though, even if Lord Hugh guesses the truth, he would never confront us on an issue of honor.”
Celia hoped that she would not have to deceive anyone, but most particularly those loyal friends of Edmund’s.
Celia felt that the finest bed in the finest castle could not feel better than the couch of dried rushes that the woman had prepared for her on the fresh straw. She had drifted off with Kit and Ellen tucked comfortably in beside her, and Father William not far away.
She did not know how long she'd been sleeping when she was suddenly conscious of the movement near the open hearth.
The husband moved silently to the cottage door, unbarred it, and slipped away into the night. Not a moment had passed, however, when Celia saw the woman crossing the room to where the travelers lay. Eustace placed her hand on Celia's shoulder, but saw immediately that the young woman was already awake.
“You must go now!” she whispered urgently. “He's gone to get his filthy Gregor cronies. They'll murder you all for those horses of yours. They would murder you for less, m'lady.”
“You're putting yourself in danger,” Celia said, on her feet and rousing the others. “What'll you tell him, Eustace, when they come back? We cannot just leave you here.”
“Aye, you can. He'll not hurt me. I will just tell the blackguard that you heard him leave,” she answered, following them to the door. “Don't you worry about me. I may be married to this dirty Gregor lout, but I'm still a Campbell. I'll be fine.”
“God bless you,” Celia said, hugging her quickly as Edmund and Father William came around the corner with the horses.
Without another word, Celia vaulted onto her horse, took the baby from Ellen, and looked once more at the defiant woman standing in the farmhouse doorway.
Celia wheeled her horse and galloped with the others into the wet gloom of the Scottish night.
The Gregors gave up their chase when Celia and the others forded the narrow northernmost point of the loch and rode west. When dawn broke again, gray and wet, Edmund looked steadily at his young niece. Clearly, he'd been thinking about their next move.
“We should go to the Campbells, Celia. It is our best possible choice.”
Celia agreed. Right now it seemed to be their only choice.
“Kildalton it is, then,” she answered.
For the next ten days they traveled as well as they could, staying with farmers who, more often than not, had little to share in the way of food so late in the winter. Several times, they were able to stay at small abbeys and with religious communities that Father William knew of. Sometimes, reaching these places took the travelers nearly a day out of their way, but they knew that they would always find a warm lodging and a hot supper when they arrived, and that made the extra miles worthwhile.
Two days before they reached Oban, a fishing village that sits where the Firth of Lorn and the Firth of Mull meet, the baby became feverish. Celia knew that they needed to reach a place of refuge where Kit could be warm and dry. He had been a trooper through it all to this point, rarely ever crying, curious, it seemed, about the changing scenery. Now Kit cried incessantly, however, and his congested coughing began to unnerve Celia. Hugging the baby to her breast, she realized she had never felt so helpless in her life.
And then she, too, began to cough, and as her fever mounted, Celia felt herself weakening with every passing hour.
Celia insisted that they push ahead at a faster pace. She didn't know how long she could hold out.
There was no question by the time they reached Oban that they would not be able to press on to Argyll's castle. Celia listened through the buzzing haze of her fever as Edmund hired one of the fishermen to ferry them across the firth to the Isle of Mull and the Campbell stronghold, Kildalton Castle.
Father William was to continue on to the abbey by Argyll's castle for news of the earl.
Celia had no clear memory of the trip over except the feel of the boat's rocking and plunging, sensations not unpleasant to a woman who had grown up sailing on her father's armed merchant vessels.
When the boat docked inside the protected harbor of the village that lay nestled beneath the high thick walls of Kildalton Castle, Celia was only vaguely aware of the voices that were all around her. She opened her eyes as she felt herself being lifted out of the boat by Edmund, and handed into the arms of another gray-haired man.
“Kit,” she murmured. “Where's the baby?”
The man's great voice rumbled softly in response that the bairn was being cared for.
“Help Ellen...please. And Edmund. Is Edmund here?”
“Aye, lassie,” came the answer in deep fatherly tones, “you are all in my care now.”
Lying comfortably in that great canopied bed, Celia was grateful for the care she'd received at the hands of Hugh Campbell. These were not the people that were ridiculed, and feared, by those in the Lowlands. These were not the ugly, barbaric savages that they used in stories to scare children. These were kind, hospitable people who had provided Celia with the first sense of security she had felt in months.
Since she'd arrived, Celia had been benignly coerced by Lord Hugh and his servants to remain quietly in her room. Because of their care, she had quickly recovered. But even so, Celia had never been so confined in her entire life.
But now, Celia thought, perhaps the best thing I can do for the remainder of my time here is to stay as much out of sight—and away from Colin and his friend—as possible.
She was expecting Father William back any day with word about Argyll, and her next move. What was keeping him?
Celia had not expected to even see Colin Campbell's ruggedly handsome face, and now she wished that she never had.
Colin's entry tonight certainly had had an unsettling effect on her plans. She had been forced to defend herself with skills possessed by few women. Celia had hoped to be the model of propriety during her stay at Kildalton, but tonight had shattered all that.
Colin Campbell does not fit into my plans, she thought.
“I know this Caithness woman is planning something, Alec,” Colin said, pacing restlessly in front of his friend's fire. “I need you to tell me all you know about her.”
“I'll tell you one thing,” Alec said with a laugh, settling onto the one three-legged chair that adorned his bedroom. “This is not the Lady Caithness I would have expected to see.”
“What do you mean by that?” Colin asked, shooting a hard look at his friend.
“For a lass as young as she seems to be, she's already acquired quite a reputation.”
“She has no reputation that's reached Kildalton Castle,” Colin exclaimed, surprised at the vehemence of his own voice. Colin turned and kicked at a log that threatened to roll out of the fireplace. Alec's room was warming up quickly now, and the light of the fire made Colin's giant shadow into a monstrous image on the far wall.
“Well, I'll tell you what I know, but we must be clear that this is only second and third-hand talk. Idle gossip coming from scurrilous, no good, parasitic court wags. In fact, you know them, my brothers John and Ambrose,” Alec said, smiling.
Colin had to smile at that. Alec's brothers were both good men, far from Alec's facetious description. Before Flodden, they had both been constantly at court, representing the interests of the Macpherson clan. The three brothers had been with the king in the fight against the English, and although Ambrose had been badly injured, it was a miracle that all three had survived the debacle.