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As they rushed out, everyone started talking at once for this was grave news indeed. Sick though he was Duncan’s uncle Hugh Campbell ruled the Clan Campbell with a rod of iron and uncertainty and plotting now rushed to fill the void of his rule, even before he breathed his last.
Ilene looked at her mother, who met her gaze with concern. The Grants started talking in hushed tones amongst themselves and on Lachlan Grant’s face, Ilene saw a look of quiet satisfaction. Then he rose and clapped his hand on Aidan’s shoulder, whispering into his ear. Aidan turned back to give her a lingering look. He smiled and winked at her, a gesture which jarred with the atmosphere of concern in the hall. So, she thought, it would happen soon, no more putting off the inevitable.
***
Hugh Campbell was to all intents and purposes already a corpse, the only difference being that he rotted above the earth, instead of under it. Rory Mor Campbell, Duncan’s oldest friend, greeted them at the door of the bedchamber. He embraced Duncan warmly and then turned his gaze to Murray.
‘I heard you had returned. Ah, it gladdens me to see you, Murray.’
‘And I you, Rory,’ he replied.
Rory grabbed his shoulders. ‘So the ragged arsed boy had become a man. Damn but you’re big. Unfortunate that you have joined us in such troubled times though.’ Turning quickly to Duncan he said, ‘Hugh does not have much time. The consumption is gnawing away at this lungs and he’s degenerated these last few days to the point where he can barely speak. Nevertheless, he insisted you not be troubled, for I think he is ashamed for you to see him like this, but sensing that the end was near I sent for you anyway.’
‘I thank you for it, you have done the right thing, Rory.’
‘Aye, well, it is a sad day for the Campbells to be sure. I will leave you your privacy.’
Hugh’s milky eyes turned slowly to them as they entered the room. ‘Ah Duncan come, come. Who is that with you?’ he wheezed. Duncan leant in and whispered in his ear. ‘Ah, Murray is it? Come here bastard and let me see you.’
Murray moved closer so that the candle next to the bed lit his face. He tried not the gag on the stench of the sick room and the ravaged appearance of the shrivelled body in the bed.
‘Back from your travels, bastard, after all these years,’ Hugh rasped. ‘Tis an ill omen to be sure.’ Hugh had been vicious all his life and he obviously did not intend to change in his last hours, despite the terrible disease dragging him to his maker. His mind and tongue were as sharp as ever.
‘They have made you strong and ripped your pretty face.’ He took an agonising, wheezing breath. ‘Tis no matter, for you’re a fighter eh? Just like Duncan. You will need to be, mark my words. Be true to my nephew, make up for your ingratitude by protecting your clan as is your duty.’ He dismissed Murray with a feeble wave of a skeletal hand and beckoned Duncan to him. Suddenly it was as if they were the only two people in the room.
His voice was fading so Duncan had to put his ear to Hugh’s mouth to hear him clearly. ‘You know you have made me proud Duncan. Are you happy with your lot?’
‘Aye, I am happy, very happy.’
‘I was not always kind to you when you were a child but my harshness made you strong.’
‘Aye Uncle, remember you used to say a tree does not grow strong if it has no gale to battle against. You taught me to push down strong roots and lean into the wind.’
‘You will need to be stronger than ever now. Cromwell’s death has left a void which his son will not be able to fill. War will be upon us again and you must promise to protect Clan Campbell when I am gone. Soon the wolves will be circling, keep them from our door son,’ he gasped as his bony, age-spotted hand gripped Duncan’s.
The final word almost brought Duncan to tears though he stifled them. Even in his death throes Hugh would think them a sign of weakness and despise him for it. ‘We will prevail, Uncle, no matter what comes at us.’
‘Trust no one, trust only in yourself, as you have always done. England is stumbling towards chaos and will drag Scotland along with it. Anarchy and war will sweep through the highlands and if an English army comes again it will crush all in its path. The clans hereabouts do not have the stomach for the fight.’
‘Save your strength Uncle.’
‘For what? I cannot cheat death Duncan, it is coming for me.’
‘Do not be frightened, you go to God and his mercy.’
‘I am a bad man, I have done terrible things. God will spurn me and the devil will drag me down to hell.’ There was a mewling quality to Hugh’s voice, like a frightened child.
‘We are all bad men but we do what we must to protect those we love. The balance between good and bad is what counts.’
‘Aye, ‘tis too late for regrets.’ He gave Duncan a lopsided smirk, one last gesture of defiance on his twisted face. ‘To the devil it is then.’
He sunk into sleep and over the next few hours his rattling breaths got further and further between and then, like an apple softly falling off a tree, Hugh Campbell died.
Duncan released his hand and allowed himself a brief moment to shed a tear for the man who had been the nearest thing to a father he would ever know. Even in his dotage, Hugh had still managed to rule Clan Campbell and Duncan had been free to rule the MacLeods. But with Hugh’s passing, he was now the only man capable of being chief of both the Macleods and the Campbell clans. He felt the huge burden settle itself onto his shoulders, fervently hoping he would not be crushed under it.
‘I am sorry Laird,’ said Murray quietly. ‘Hugh Campbell was a great man.’
‘He was a devious, ruthless old bastard but he loved Scotland and he loved his clan, and in his way, he loved me I think.’
