Legacy of the Highlands (20 page)

“Not to worry lad, not to worry. Here, have
another nip to calm your nerves.” Mackinnon extended the flask to
Ian.

“So it’s all settled then?” asked John
Malcolm as he pulled his cardigan sweater tightly around his lanky
frame, unsure if the chill came from the room’s damp or from the
icy coldness of James Mackinnon’s words. Malcolm had been the only
one to argue against Will Cameron’s murder. The lad was an innocent
after all, but he had been out-voted.

“It’s not quite settled, no,” responded
Mackinnon. “Michael has received reports from America that trouble
may come from a friend of the dead lad’s, a man called Diego
Navarro. The two were like brothers I’m told. This Navarro has
money and power and the ear of the lad’s widow. The lass is
descended from Gillies Mor MacBain who struck down fourteen of the
English single-handed at Culloden before the whoresons ran him
through with a blade. Do ye know of him?” Mackinnon asked his
attentive cohorts, who responded with muttered “nays.”

“Christ, have ye no interest in our history?”
he said with disgust. “They were fierce and bonnie fighters, the
MacBains. Why, that clan stood shoulder to shoulder with my own
people on Culloden’s front lines. I just canna abide harm coming to
the lass and I told Michael so, but he has someone keeping an eye
on the bonnie Alexandra on the chance she carries a Cameron in her
belly.”

“Aye, James. That makes sense,” said
Buchanan. “With young Cameron gone, that clan is finished and John
Cameron knows it. But it’s still useful for him to believe his
son’s wife is in danger, no?”

“Right. There’s no need to ease the devil’s
mind or his guilt, but killing a lass is…” Mackinnon scratched his
head as he searched for a word. “Well…it’s different, is all. But
Cameron must understand that no one betrays us. No one! Like all of
us, he took the blood oath and must abide by it — or his must
die.”

Diego was stunned that Alex had actually thrown him
out of his own suite. What amazed him even more was that he’d
obeyed her order to get lost. He’d stormed into the bedroom and
when he emerged in shorts and a T-shirt, he’d muttered another
Spanish curse and left. Alex had the power to make him crazy, yet
he suspected that her brand of persuasion would work on John better
than his. Whether she’d be able to handle whatever Cameron revealed
worried him, and he was sorry to have put her in that position. He
vowed to find a way to make it up to her.

Alex had no doubt that Diego was hurt, and more than
a little offended, that she’d ordered him to get out, but she
wasn’t going to worry about the state of his oversized ego. The
wreck of a man in front of her was more important, for the moment
at least.

She stood with her arms crossed, facing John.
“It’s just you and me now and I need you to tell me the rest. You
owe me that,” she coaxed and braced herself for what might come.
Minus the volcano known as Diego, John seemed more composed — a
good sign.

“All right. I’m sorry that I’m having so much
trouble explaining all of this and I apologize for implying that
you were having an affair with Navarro. There’s some history
between our families and it was a gut reaction. I know you wouldn’t
get involved with a man like him. What do you want to know?” All of
the fight had gone out of him and he was acting more like the
confident man he’d been before Will’s death.

Alex hadn’t missed John’s reference to the
Navarros, but she let it go. Her fingers were ice cold and she
leaned forward to wrap her hands around the coffee pot, but it
wasn’t warm so she rewrapped herself in the comforter from Diego’s
bed.

“You told us that your father was involved in
some Scottish organization. Can we go back to that?” She wanted to
hear more about Mackinnon, but guessed that a chronological telling
would be easiest for John. She was less sure than Diego that John
was in any way responsible for Will’s murder. The Camerons might
appear to be heartless, but Alex knew how much they’d loved their
son. They would never put their only child in harm’s way. Will had
once told her they’d never even spanked him.

John took a couple of deep breaths, removed
his blazer, and loosened his silver and navy striped necktie. He
carefully rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt just as Diego
had done earlier. Alex was freezing, but the two men obviously had
some internal source of heat. He rubbed his hands over his face and
then, with a faraway look in his eyes, resumed his tale.

“I already told you that my ancestor, John
Cameron, was a clan chief and one of the signatories of the
Declaration of Arbroath. To Scots that means he’s something like
George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin — at least
that’s what my father drilled into me. Naturally this ancestor
became my hero, especially since I had the same name. My fate, I
guess.” He shrugged, then continued without a prompt from Alex. “My
father filled my head with glorious, heroic tales of Clan Cameron,
how generations of my family fought for Scotland’s freedom, and how
it was my duty to carry on this fight.”

Alex was exhausted, her head ached, and she
was anxious for him to get to the point. Her coffee was cold, but
she gulped it anyway, hoping its caffeine might ease the pain
behind her eyes. She knew she had to be patient with John, but it
was increasingly difficult. “John, I don’t need to know all the
history. Let’s focus on the present and why you think you caused
Will’s murder.”

John pulled his chair closer. She couldn’t
look away from the intense expression in his gold-flecked hazel
eyes; nor did she want to. He filled his lungs, exhaled forcefully,
and began.

“I’m a member of a secret organization called
the Group of One Hundred. Our name comes from a phrase in the
Declaration of Arbroath,” he said.

“You mean that bit about never giving up as
long as a hundred are still alive?”

“Yes. We’ve tried to win Scotland’s freedom
for centuries, sometimes openly and with our blood, but more often
covertly,” he paused and sighed deeply.

“So are you…a spy or some kind of terrorist?”
she stammered. The very idea was ludicrous, but it seemed John
Cameron had a lot of secrets.

“Nothing so glamorous. In recent times, the
Camerons’ only responsibility was to raise money to finance the
struggle. When my father died, that job passed to me. It’s
important to blur the trail of financial support that comes from
what are best described as ‘questionable’ sources. I know how to do
that. It may sound sleazy, but it’s done more often than anyone
realizes. I’m not a spy and I’m certainly not a terrorist, but
money laundering is illegal. I could wind up in prison.”

“Oh!” she gasped.

“Some of our support comes from countries and
radical groups that take great delight in anything that hurts
England. They have no interest in an independent Scotland, of
course, but they want us to succeed in order to weaken the British
government and to humiliate it.”

“This is like a James Bond movie,” Alex said,
astonished to discover that John Cameron was a money launderer and
involved in anti-British conspiracies. Her head was spinning, but
she closed her eyes and forced herself to concentrate. Diego would
expect her to repeat all of this to him. Would he be as shocked as
she was or might John’s shady side appeal to him? She wouldn’t be
surprised if Diego even respected him as a kindred spirit.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I saw myself as
part of an ancient struggle for freedom. My father did an excellent
job of brainwashing me with stories about the oppression and
brutality of the English.” He bent his head and his voice dropped,
“I was convinced that our cause was just. I still am. I simply
couldn’t live with some of a few of the more fanatical members’
tactics.”

“Did Will know anything about this?” she
interrupted. She thought that John might have revealed his
involvement once Will became interested in his Scottish roots. But
then Will would have told her, wouldn’t he?

“No, I never told him about what I did or the
family’s connection to the group. I didn’t want to risk involving
Will in any of this,” John said, his voice rising. “I’m still angry
that my father brought me into it. Honor and duty, he said.
Bullshit! This isn’t our struggle. So what if we are Camerons? My
father thought of himself as more Scottish than American, but I
don’t.” He shrugged and rolled his neck to ease its tension, then
he suddenly smiled at her.

“You’ll probably be shocked that my father
was overjoyed when Will chose you as his bride. ‘Blood will out,
laddie,’ he’d crowed. ‘Your son is marrying a Scottish lass, a
descendent of Gillies MacBain, a Jacobite hero.’ But I was
terrified that your father, or even you, might be part of the Group
of One Hundred too, and would draw Will in. None of us know who all
of the other members are. I eventually spoke to your Dad — God rest
his soul — and he said your grandfather told him about the
organization, but for the past 200 years the MacBains have had
nothing to do with it. I neglected to tell him that I did.”

Alex didn’t want to be distracted, but this
tangent was worth pursuing. “Is that the reason you and Anne never
approved of me? I don’t understand.”

“Alex dear, there’s no defense for the
inexcusable way we behaved toward you, but we feared your influence
over Will. My father had researched your genealogy the way other
families might run a Dun & Bradstreet check into a fiancée’s
finances. For all I knew you could have been recruited into this
group without your parents’ knowledge. I’d worked so hard to keep
Will ignorant of his ties to Scotland and its battles and then when
you two went to the Highlands…well.”

“Shit,” she muttered. It always came back to
that trip. Somehow their innocent vacation had sealed Will’s fate
and Alex began to understand that the chill she’d felt from her
in-laws for so long wasn’t merely disdain for her lack of social
status, but sheer terror.

“I was sure I’d see an independent Scotland
in my lifetime,” John continued, “so there was no need for Will to
know all of this or to have any obligation to become part of it.
The fight would end with my generation. I was so wrong! My son
might still be alive if I’d told him to be careful, especially
after what I did.”

He walked purposefully to the windows
overlooking the Common and began to roll the sleeves of his shirt
back down to his wrists in preparation to face the outside world
again.

“John.” Alex’s voice seemed to startle him.
“I’m not through with you. A minute ago you said that Will might be
alive if you’d told him about something you did. What exactly did
you do to make someone want to kill him?”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry. Give me a minute.” He
returned to his seat the way a man might approach the gallows. It
took some time for him to resume his explanation.

“The condensed version is I found out that
there were a few members of the organization who were buying
material to build bombs. I wasn’t supposed to know, but because I
was involved with the money, I came across proof that they were
procuring weapons. When I refused to release the money until I knew
what the arms were needed for, they tried to bullshit me until they
finally admitted that they were going to carry out terrorist
strikes in London. They fancied themselves the Scottish version of
the IRA. I was outraged. Friends of mine were killed in the Twin
Towers. I couldn’t allow other innocent people to be murdered in
the name of some cause. I tried to talk them out of it, to convince
them that violence made them no better than their despised Butcher
Cumberland when he ordered the slaughter of innocent Scots after
the ‘45. We’re so close to a political agreement with Westminster.
Something this stupid would ruin our chances of ever again being
taken seriously. But they wouldn’t listen, said their plans were
already in motion and it was too late. I played along and gave them
the money, but I had to stop them.”

“And…” Alex prodded. She had to know. John’s
face was flushed with anger, but he spoke very softly as if he
didn’t want his confession to be overheard.

“I contacted someone I trust in British
intelligence and turned everything I knew over to him, including
names. Of course I couldn’t reveal how I’d come by this information
— that would incriminate me — but with the leads I provided, three
men were arrested. One of those men is Mackinnon’s son. He must
have known who Will was when he gave him that Arbroath document to
deliver to me as a reminder of my oath — and as a warning. I was
stupid to think they wouldn’t find out it was me who’d turned them
in and even dumber to think they wouldn’t retaliate. I thought
they’d come after me, if anyone, and if they killed me…well, so be
it. But I should have protected my family, and that includes you.
That was why I tried to find you after the funeral. I couldn’t live
with myself if anything happened to you too.”

“Me? What do I have to do with it? I may have
the Cameron name, but I don’t share your blood.”

“These aren’t rational people. Rational
people don’t deliberately kill innocents like Will. You must be
very careful, Alex.”

“So it was a biblical eye for an eye? Your
son for Mackinnon’s? My God! Was my husband a bit of collateral
damage, the victim of an international conspiracy gone bad? Is that
what you’re telling me?” Her voice was tinged with hysteria and
there was roaring in her ears. When John nodded, she jumped up from
the couch, but quickly sat again when her body began to sway.

“Put your head between your knees and you’ll
be all right,” he advised on his way out of the suite. She also
heard him whisper, “it should have been me,” as he closed the
door.

She was furious that he’d been stupid enough
to involve himself with fanatics in the first place and then to
think he could expose them and escape unscathed. He may have wanted
to protect Will, but how could a man as clever as John not even
consider that his family might somehow pay for his actions? What an
idiot! But something else was dancing around the edges of her
anger. When she recognized the intruder as pity, she tried to
banish it. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him, but it was there.
Along with the sorrow of losing his son, she knew that John also
carried an extra burden — unimaginable guilt.