The Campbell Trilogy (17 page)

“It depends on your perspective. Many of my clansmen and the Colquhouns would vehemently disagree.”

She had only a vague understanding of what had happened at the battle of Glenfruin, but she did know that the MacGregors had been accused of—though denied responsibility for—what amounted to a slaughter, including the stabbing of forty men who’d been taken as prisoners. Whatever the truth, the MacGregors had taken the blame. But she knew that there were always two sides to a story. Her father had thought the MacGregors worthy of protection; she would not second-guess him. “You’re a Highlander—unless you’ve forgotten.”

His eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“A
Highlander
would understand the sacred obligation of Highland hospitality. If what you say was true, my father was honor-bound to shelter the MacGregors.”

His jaw flexed. “I understand the obligation well enough, but ’tis no defense for breaking the law, Caitrina.”

“Have you no compassion? Or does your cousin’s law not allow for that?” His face was a mask of stone, hard and unyielding. “God, do you have any emotions at all?”

He took a step toward her, and she could tell he was holding on by a very thin thread. “Unfortunately, I do,” he said, but his steely voice belied his claim. “Though right now it pleases me no more than it does you.”

She felt a jolt of awareness at his admission and turned away, not wanting him to see how he affected her. Did he feel something for her?

It didn’t matter.

Then why did something deep inside her yearn for it to be true?

“Just go away,” she said furiously. “If it’s absolution you seek, you will not find it from me.”

He grabbed her arm and spun her back to him; she felt the warm press of his fingers through her sark like a brand.

She knew he hated when she dismissed him, but nothing could stop her from provoking him—from making him as angry as she. But it wasn’t just him; she was angry at the invisible force that seemed to draw them together, that would not let her ignore or forget him as she wanted, that made her deeply conscious of him and the strange physical awareness that seemed to drench her body with heat: his warm masculine scent; the shadow of stubble along his square jaw; the wide curve of his mouth that made her think of kissing. It was so unfair. He’d been battered by the past few months as well, but it only served to make him more ruggedly handsome.

“I did not come for absolution,” he said tightly.

“Then why did you come?” All of a sudden it dawned on her.
Me. He’s come for me.
She scoffed with outrage. “You can’t honestly think I want anything to do with you?” His eyes flared at her tone, but she did not heed the warning. “I
despise
you. When I see you, I will always see a Campbell. The clan responsible for the death of my family. Nothing you say will ever change that.”

His face was drawn in taut lines, and anger radiated from him. His vaunted control was wavering.

“You want to hate me.” He put his hand on her throat, covering the frantic pulse at her neck, and she froze. “But you don’t hate me at all, Caitrina.” He lowered his head, and she could smell the warm spice of his breath. His hair spilled forward on her cheek, silky and warm from the sun. Her breath hitched and her heart raced wildly in her chest. “Even now you want me,” he drawled, sliding his finger down her neck to the swell of her breast, singeing a path of heated sensation in his wake. Her nipples hardened in anticipation of his touch, throbbing when he dropped his hand. “The fire coursing through your veins right now is for me,” he whispered in her ear. “And only for me. No one else will ever make you feel like this. Try to deny what is between us.”

Her body was shaking; she was excruciatingly aware of every inch of his powerful body, so close to hers. She shook her head, holding on so tight that she dared not try to speak.

“Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you.” He lowered his mouth to hers until only a hairbreadth separated them. Her heart pounded in her ears. She couldn’t breathe. Every nerve ending flared. The wind whipped across her face, but all she could think about was the silky texture of his lips and how he’d tasted on her tongue.

“I don’t want you to kiss me,” she managed, her voice wobbling.

“Liar,” he growled, then murmured something about her being damn stubborn before his mouth fell on hers.

It was as if something exploded inside her. All the emotions she’d fought so hard to contain broke free. His kiss was everything she remembered. Hot, wet, and demanding
as his mouth moved over hers with swift possession. The taste of him was like the darkest, richest wine, pouring into her soul until she was drunk with pleasure.

She sank against him, surrendering her breath, her mouth, her body, in one heart-stopping moment. She couldn’t deny this if she wanted to.

His finger caressed her jaw in soft entreaty. She opened willingly, taking him deep in her mouth, savoring the erotic sensation of his tongue sliding against hers. He stroked deeper and deeper, as if he couldn’t get enough of her.

She kissed him back, twining her tongue with his, meeting him stroke for stroke. He groaned, pulling her snugly against him, letting her feel every hard inch of his powerful body. Her body flushed with heat where they touched. God, he was magnificent. She wanted to touch his bare skin, to run her hands over the thick, bulging muscles of his arms and chest to feel his strength under her fingertips. She molded to him, melting into his heat. She wanted the comfort that only he could bring. To feed the starving emptiness in her soul.

His kiss turned a little rougher and more insistent. He opened her mouth wider, so he could sink deeper. The rough stubble of his chin scraped her skin as his tongue thrust faster and faster in a wickedly sensual beat. It was wet and hot, and deliciously erotic. The licking. The stroking. The fire.

Desire flooded her body, the memories of how he’d touched her making her pulse with anticipation. Heat rushed between her legs; she pressed against him, seeking friction, and felt his heavy erection straining against her.

For a moment, she tensed. The memory of the soldier hovering over her flashed before her eyes, but she pushed it away.
Jamie would never hurt her.
She knew it with a certainty that shocked her. Lust would never control him.

But would it control her?

It was as if she’d been doused by a bucket of icy seawater. She was passionately kissing a man in broad daylight—and not just any man, but her enemy.

A sick feeling curdled in her stomach. How could she betray her family like this? For a moment in his arms, she’d forgotten all that stood between them. She pushed against his chest, freeing herself from his embrace. Without thinking, she pulled her hand back and brought her open palm as hard as she could against his face.

The slap rang out as loud as a musket shot.

His face had barely flinched from the blow, but the imprint of her hand showed stark crimson on his cheek.

She covered her mouth with her hand, stunned by the violence of her actions, knowing that it had been as much a reaction against her own response as it had beeen to him.

What power did this man have over her?

Her breath came hard between her lips as she fought for control, fought to quiet the powerful yearnings still firing inside her. She looked into his eyes and the intensity there shook her to her core. His gray blue eyes bored into her, as if he could see right inside her—to her deepest secrets.

“You’ve made your point,” she said hoarsely, her breath ragged. “I hate you, but my body lusts for you. If it was your intention to humiliate me, you’ve succeeded.”

His face was a mask of cold implacability. Looking at him, you would never guess that such passion existed under his steely reserve—but she’d felt it. Moments ago, he’d been kissing her with more emotion than she’d dreamed possible. As if he wanted her more than anything in the entire world. As if she mattered.

“I assure you,” he said evenly, “humiliating you was the furthest thing from my mind.”

The possessive way he looked at her told her exactly what he’d had in mind. He wanted her, and the worst part was that she wanted him right back.

For a moment, her defenses fell and she gave him a pleading look. “Please, just leave me alone to find what peace I can.”

He shook his head. “We both know that is impossible.” And because she feared he was right, she ran.

She raced away from him as if the devil were nipping at her heels. In a way, Jamie supposed he was. But she would never be able to outrun what burned between them.

He let her go—this time.

He shouldn’t have kissed her. It was too soon. For months she’d blamed him for the death of her family; he should have given her time to accept what he’d told her.

He stared after her, unable to turn away. Though changed, her beauty was still magnetic. She moved with natural agility and grace as she scrambled up the pathway to the castle, hair streaming behind her head like a silky black veil.

The old plaid she wore had come loose, and she’d gathered it up in her arms. He felt a pang of regret. The plain sark and kirtle she wore was a stark contrast to the fine gowns he was used to seeing her in. The things that had once given her pleasure were barely spared a thought.

Princess, he’d called her then. Now, the comparison seemed cruel.

She’d changed, and not just in her choice of adornment. No, the changes went far deeper. Where there had once been naïveté and innocence, there was now wariness and sorrow—but also a hard glint in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

One thing, however, hadn’t changed. She still possessed an uncanny ability to make him lose control. The harder she tried to push him away, the more he wanted to force
her to acknowledge what was between them. It seemed the only thing she couldn’t deny was her passion.

She thought it was lust. But lust was a simple emotion, and there was nothing simple about the blistering attraction and steely connection that seemed to bind them together.

He whistled for his mount, and the powerful black stallion clopped quickly to his side. After gathering the reins in his hand, he started toward the keep, troubled by how much she’d changed.

Hell, he’d never wanted to see her brought so low, he’d only wanted her to understand that the world was more complicated than she thought. He hadn’t wanted her to suffer like this or see such brutality.

If he hadn’t been so damn angry by her refusal, he might have been able to protect her. But pride stung, he’d kept his intentions to himself. If he’d told his cousin or brother Colin of his plan to marry her, her family might have been spared. She might have been spared.

He would never be able to give her back the family she’d lost, but he would do what he could to make things right.

He gazed up at the keep as he drew closer, remembering her parting words. A less determined man might do as she asked. But Jamie couldn’t walk away and leave her as she wanted. Caitrina Lamont had gotten under his skin in a way no woman had before. Even though she’d been through hell and back, she was still fiery, passionate, stubborn, and proud. What he’d once dismissed as spoiled had reflected strength of character that ran much deeper. She was unlike any other woman he’d ever known.

She belonged to him, and he would not—could not—let her go.

Caitrina’s heart was still pounding as she entered the dark stone staircase of the old keep and wound her way up
to the small chamber that had been set aside for her in the garret.

It was no more than a servant’s room, but for her it was perfect. The low, sharply angled ceiling of the small space made her feel safe. And because the chamber was at the very top of the tower, too high to climb, there was a large window for her to look out of onto the Clyde. Her uncle had offered her a more sizable room below to share with her two young cousins, but Caitrina preferred the solitude and quiet—the girls, though sweet, were but twelve and fourteen and prone to chatter.
Like Brian.
The memories were too painful.

She crossed the small corridor outside her chamber in a few steps, pulled open the door and quickly slammed it closed behind her, as if he might be following her. But a tiny voice at the back of her head warned her that if Jamie Campbell wanted her, a simple wood plank door wouldn’t stand in his way. She shivered.
Nothing
would stand in his way.

Resting her back against the door, she closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath, waiting for the hard rise and fall of her chest to slow.

Caitrina had thought that she’d put what had happened between them and her irrational attraction to Jamie behind her. His involvement—or that of his clan—in the attack on her family had erected an insurmountable wall between them. Or at least it should have, but he’d toppled it with words that made her question what she thought she knew.

She still wanted him. As much as she wanted to deny it, her passionate response to his kiss told otherwise. The weakness put her to shame. He should be the last man she was attracted to. If only it were as simple as physical attraction, but she feared something more complicated. She couldn’t seem to think straight when he was near.