The Campbell Trilogy (96 page)

When they reached the postern gate in the curtain
wall, he whispered for her to keep her head down and tucked her under the crook of his arm. When he made a ribald jest to the guard at the gate about going on a “wee ride” with his “lady friend” she knew why. Heat blasted her cheeks.

“It’s Argyll’s cousin, let him pass,” the guard said. “Where’s your companion tonight, Campbell?”

Duncan laughed and mumbled something about his new countess.

When they were clear of the gate and he released her, she turned to him accusingly, “You let him think I was one of your doxies!” Her eyes narrowed. “Just how often do you do this, Duncan Campbell?”

“ ’Tis the first,” he said with an apologetic twist of his mouth. “My cousin and I often partake of the ale in the village, that’s all.” She was still trying to decide whether to believe him. “I’m sorry to embarrass you, but I thought it would prevent questions. It did.” There was an awkward silence as they navigated the path down the rock upon which Stirling Castle sat. Finally he said, “You came,” as if he didn’t quite believe it.

She gave him a sidelong glance from under her lashes, unable to read his expression. The implacability that she found so frustrating was no doubt what made him such a prized negotiator by his cousin—he gave nothing away. He would make a fortune gaming, she thought wryly. “Did you think I would not?”

Duncan Campbell gazed down at the lass all but hidden by the hooded cloak beside him, not quite believing that she was real. In truth, he’d wondered that every minute he spent with her over the past two weeks.

Jeannie Grant had enchanted him. It wasn’t just the fiery hair, emerald eyes, and ivory skin so smooth and luminous as to invoke allusions to goddesses and other heavenly creatures—even to a man utterly unfamiliar
with such romantic notions. Nor was it the tall, lithe figure and soft round swell of what appeared to be a very generous bosom beneath the stiff fabric of her stomacher. (Although, as any man of one and twenty, he did occasionally find his gaze dropping.)

It was her vibrancy, the spirit that seemed to bubble inside her, despite her obvious efforts to contain it behind a staid and decorous manner. He, better than anyone, understood the reasons why she fought so hard to repress her natural exuberance. Living under a black stain was something they had in common—he for his birth and she for her mother’s scandal. Abandonment, he supposed, was also something with which he was familiar.

Yet despite what she’d been through, it had not put a damper on her spirit. And for the serious Duncan that vitality was an elixir. Like a moth to the flame, he was drawn to her in a way that he’d never been drawn to a woman before.

He knew she wasn’t for him, but he couldn’t keep away.

Of certain, no lass had ever made him lose focus like this—a war with Huntly was looming for God’s sake and here he was sneaking around for a midnight swim just to have the opportunity to be alone with her.

Before meeting Jeannie, Duncan’s sole focus had been making a name for himself and earning the future that would have otherwise been his were it not for one thing: legitimacy.

But he’d never been forced to confront the inherent limitations of his birth. Marriage had seemed something in the future. Another means to advance himself. Never would he have dreamed of reaching so high. But from the first moment he’d seen Jeannie Grant he’d wanted her, wanted her in a way that he’d never wanted anything—or anyone—before. Knowing that his birth
might prevent him from having her was a bitter draught to swallow and for the first time he felt something akin to bitterness.

Making it all the more surprising when Jeannie made it clear his birth didn’t matter to her. She returned his attentions so wholeheartedly he’d actually allowed himself to believe that a future between them might be possible.

To that end, when he returned to Castleswene, he intended to broach the subject of an alliance with his father. But he hadn’t been able to resist seeing her alone before he did.

Had he thought she’d come? She shouldn’t have. But no matter how hard she tried to suppress her spontaneity and thirst for adventure, he knew her well enough to know that she would be hard-pressed to resist. “I wasn’t sure,” he hedged.

They’d reached the bottom of the rocky hill upon which Stirling Castle was perched. She tossed back her hood and turned to him, hands on her hips and emerald eyes flashing. “I think you are an arrogant rogue and knew very well I’d come.”

He tossed his head back and laughed. Did she have any idea how adorable she was? Her innocence and utter lack of pretense were as rare as they were enchanting.

A rogue. No one had ever accused him of that before. Serious, focused, determined, ambitious, ruthless, aye. But Jeannie brought out a side of him that he hadn’t known existed. The playfulness in her that was so foreign to him was contagious. Two weeks in her company and he felt more carefree than he had in his entire life.

He caught her wrist and spun her toward him. They weren’t touching but his body fired with awareness simply from having her near. Reaching down, he tilted her chin to look deep into her eyes. The incredible baby softness
of her skin under his fingertips was almost unreal. “I’ll not apologize for wanting you alone, lass.”

Her eyes scanned his face, lingering on his mouth. He stilled, his entire body consumed by the sudden flare of desire and the urge to kiss her. He heard her sharp intake of breath and knew she felt it, too—the hard pull that seemed to draw them together.

His eyes dropped to her mouth, her lips parted invitingly below his. God, they looked so soft and sweet. Her subtle floral perfume had wrapped itself around him, drawing him tighter. Just one taste …

He swore silently and dropped her wrist. He hadn’t brought her out here to seduce her.

But he knew he was playing with fire. He couldn’t look at her without getting hard. He’d seemingly lost control of his body, succumbing to the ailment that plagued men of his age—his mind obsessed by thoughts of one thing.

She dropped her gaze, but he could see the heat on her cheeks as if she didn’t quite understand why he’d pulled away. Hell, he was trying to protect her. Sometimes he had to remind himself how damned young—and innocent—she was.

“Come,” he said gently, indicating the path through the trees to the north. “The loch is only a short walk from here.” It was dark, but the moon provided more than enough light to navigate through the sparse birch trees.

Not quite trusting himself to touch her with heat still surging through his body, he resisted the urge to take her hand again and they walked side by side for a few minutes in companionable silence. That was one of the things he found so special about her—they were just as comfortable talking as not. “How did you get away from your eagle-eyed warden?”

She glanced over at him, a sheepish look on her face.
“My aunt has a certain fondness for a glass of claret before she goes to sleep.”

He grinned. “And let me guess, you made sure she had an extra?”

Jeannie bit her lip, an innocent, girlish habit that drew his attention to her lush sensuous mouth, to the pink fullness of her lips, arousing a decidedly non-innocent response in him. A mouth like that could drive a man wild with erotic images. Those pink full lips stretched tight around … hell, he adjusted the source of discomfort and focused his attention back on her.

“Actually, I had an entire flagon sent up,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to take any chances.”

He chuckled, appreciating the foresight and ingenuity. “Done this before, have you?”

She turned to him, aghast. “Of course not—”

She stopped, seeing his expression and realizing he was teasing. Their eyes met and she burst into laughter. The soft tinkling sound made something in his chest expand and he thought he would be a happy man if he could listen to her laughter for the rest of his life.

He knew it with a certainty that should surprise him. Duncan didn’t make gut decisions; he made rational ones. But not this time.

He’d never believed in fate, but there was no other way to describe what he felt about Jeannie Grant. The strength of those feelings made him uneasy. Romantic love was the province of troubadours, not of warriors. He’d thought himself immune to the weakness of emotions. Not that he wasn’t capable. He loved his family, but it wasn’t the same. The intensity, the ferocity of what he felt for Jeannie he feared as Achilles must have his tendon.

It was moving too fast, but for once in his life he couldn’t seem to stop himself. When it came to Jeannie, his prized rationality and control had deserted him.

He only hoped she felt the same. He thought she did—that this connection was not merely one-sided—but she was so young. And her propensity to follow her heart, wherever it may lead, did not necessarily augur well for steadfastness and depth of feeling.

A few more minutes of walking brought them to the edge of a small pool. No more than a half mile from the castle, they might have entered another world. Surrounded by trees on one side and a jagged staircase of rock that disappeared into the hillside on the other, it was a lush oasis that seemed more suited to a remote part of the Highlands. The full moon was poised low in the sky, hanging right over the center of the loch. It couldn’t have been in a more picturesque position had he hung it there himself.

“It’s lovely,” she said softly beside him. “However did you find it?”

He shrugged. “It’s a popular spot.” When he saw her expression, he amended, “During the day.”

“Perhaps this isn’t a good idea.”

He cocked a brow. “You aren’t going to turn around now, are you?”

She chewed on her lip, her tiny white teeth pressing into the soft pillow of pink. “I don’t know …”

God, she had no idea what she did to him. Heat built inside him, pooling in his groin. He forced his gaze away from her mouth. Time to cool off. He quickly divested himself of his clothing and weapons. Rather than the two-handed
claidbeamb da laimb
and longbow he preferred on the battlefield, at court he carried a pistol, a short sword—mere ornament for Lowland courtiers—and a dirk. After unbuckling his thick leather belt, he removed his plaid and tossed it beside the rest of his belongings. In deference to the innocence of his companion, he kept on the linen shirt that fell almost to his knees.

Flashing a jaunty grin at her flushed face, he said, “Suit yourself,” before running to the edge of the loch and diving in.

The cold water washed over him in an invigorating shock, cooling some of the lust from his blood. He surfaced some distance away from where she was standing, but he could see her indecision clear enough in the furtive glances she kept casting from the ground at her feet to the water.

He treaded for a few minutes, watching her struggle and trying not to laugh. “It feels amazing in here,” he taunted. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You are not a very nice man, Duncan Campbell.”

He grinned. “I never claimed otherwise.”

He heard her mutter something unflattering before her hands began to work the ties of her cloak, letting it slip to the ground in a pool of black. He stilled, all joking suddenly cast aside, as he was utterly transfixed by the spectacle on the shore. Watching her undress like this was the most erotic thing he’d ever beheld. Pure torture, but he could not look away.

Though from this distance the plain ivory linen nightraile was modest, his body fired at the realization that all that separated her from nakedness was a thin swathe of fabric. Fabric that when wet would become virtually transparent. The relief he’d felt only moments ago from the cold water suddenly vanished. He went as hard as a damned spike, grateful for the dark water that hid the force of his reaction from her view.

She kicked off her slippers and pulled the combs out of her hair. The long locks tumbled down her back in a thick, shimmering wave of fiery auburn. He wanted to bury his face in its softness, feel it fall on his naked chest like a silky shroud as she rode him. He nearly groaned at the vivid images.

All her hesitation gone, she ran toward the water, following his path and diving in.

He saw the splash and the ripple of water as she swam under the water toward him. His heart pounded something fierce as he waited for her to surface. His entire body throbbed with desire. How the hell was he going to keep his hands off her?

She broke through the water a few feet away, hair slicked back, droplets of water sparkling on her skin in the opalescent moonlight like faerie dust, a smile of pure pleasure spread across her radiant face. Did she have any idea how beautiful she was?

His chest tightened. If there’d been any doubt before, there wasn’t any now: He loved her. Loved her with an intensity that took his breath away. He’d never thought himself capable of feeling like this.

“You were right, you fiend. It feels wonderful.”

The laughter in her voice made him smile. “Ah, then I’ll refrain from saying I told you so.”

“You just did,” she quipped playfully, before putting her hands together and pushing enough water to thoroughly douse him. After shaking his head to clear the water from his face, he fixed his gaze on her with predatory intent. “So that’s how it’s going to be, is it? Hasn’t anyone every told you never start a war you can’t win?”

He lunged for her. She squealed with laughter and kicked backward to evade his grasp.

Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she tisked her head in mock disappointment. “A braw Highland warrior like you? I expected better. You’ll have to do much better than that if you are going to catch me.”

And with that she disappeared under the water.

He grinned and gave chase. Practically raised in the water, Duncan was the fastest swimmer in his clan. Last year he’d come in second to Rory MacLeod at the swimming
competition at the Highland Gathering. Next year he intended to be first.

He didn’t expect it to be much of a chase, but Jeannie surprised him. What she lacked in strength, she made up in agility and speed.

She was quick, he’d give her that. A wolfish smile curled his lips. But not quick enough.