The Campbell Trilogy (127 page)

She stilled. For the same reasons she couldn’t just say, “Yes, I want this. Yes, I want you,” and give over to the pleasure he wrought within her.

They’d both changed. They were no longer careless youths to be swept away by passion. She better than anyone knew the consequences of that.

She pushed herself away from him, horrified by the madness that had come over her. By what she’d nearly done. “I’m sorry. I … I can’t do this.”

His face was a mask of pained restraint, every muscle tight. His eyes pinned her, biting into her with a searing intensity. “Why?”

The dull hollowness of his voice made her chest pang. She’d hurt him.

Tears burned behind her eyes. She looked up at him, trying to find the words to explain. “I don’t know.”

“You want me.”

She didn’t bother trying to deny it. How could she when her body still wept and trembled from his touch. She’d always wanted him—only him.

“But something is holding you back,” he said. He caught her arm and held her to him, his face dangerously
close. “What are you hiding from me, Jeannie? Does it have something to do with your husband?” She didn’t say anything, fear clamping around her throat. “With your son?”

He was holding her so close, looking into her eyes, and he saw it. The flare of panic in her gaze she could not hide.

“It’s your son you are protecting.” His eyes searched her face. “Why?”

Jeannie’s heart raced as she wrestled with something to say, with some kind of explanation to steer him from the truth. Everything she’d fought so hard to protect seemed poised on the very precipice of disaster. She was scared to open her mouth, fearing the truth would somehow slip out.

“How could I possibly hurt your son?”

Anger welled up inside her. Though she’d gone to every effort to prevent him from doing so, part of her wanted him to guess. His genuine perplexity, his blindness, grated, shattering her already frayed emotions. Tears broke free as the pressure of all she’d been keeping inside finally burst.

“Don’t you see that your very presence here is a threat to him? If you implicate my husband in this plot against you who do you think will take the blame? You can destroy my son’s future, everything I’ve fought so hard to protect,” she lashed out, coming dangerously close to the truth, but for the moment not caring.

Her accusation took him aback. “He’s a child.”

She scoffed. “Do you think that will matter to your cousin or the king?”

His silence said it all. Giving voice to her fears was a relief, she realized. It hadn’t been the entire truth, but enough of it to feel as if a weight had been lifted.

After a moment, he dragged his hands through his hair and said, “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Would it have mattered? Should I have trusted you?” She challenged. “Did you trust me?”

Their eyes met, each knowing the answer.

“And this is why you’ve refused to help me? To protect your son?”

She sensed the urgency in his voice, as if her answer was somehow very important to him. “What should I have done? Help you destroy him?”

“I would never allow that to happen, Jeannie,” he said, tilting her chin and forcing her gaze to his. For a moment his expression was devoid of the anger that had hardened it only moments ago—almost tender. “The boy carries no blame for what happened. I swear to you he will not be harmed.”

“How can you make such a promise?”

“I can do nothing about your father, but I will ensure that your husband’s name is kept out of this.”

She sucked in her breath. Her eyes scanned his face, seeing only cold resolve. “You would do this for me?”

He nodded. “Aye. You have my word.”

She wanted to believe him. Looking at him it was hard not to. In his fine black leather and metal-studded garb, he looked every inch the fierce, indestructible warrior—the black knight of legend ready to defeat all who challenged him. His head nearly touched the ceiling, his shoulders were as wide as the door, his chest as hard as a shield—every inch of him honed to a steely weapon of war. But it was more than his size and clothing. The stamp of authority was plain not just on his proud, noble features, but engrained in every movement, even in the way he spoke. He seemed more a chief than an outlaw.

But he
was
an outlaw—a dead man if his cousin’s soldiers caught up with him. How could he protect her son?

Yet, all her instincts cried out to throw herself into his
arms, close her eyes, and give over to the powerful force that drew them together. It seemed so easy, but she’d learned to be wary of easy.

It wasn’t just him she didn’t know if she could trust, she realized; it was herself. When it came to him, her judgment had never been sound.

Her uncertainty must have shown on her face. His hand fell from her face and he took a step back away from her. “I can’t undo the past, Jeannie. Nor can I force you to move beyond it. I wronged you. I should have listened to you and given you a chance to explain. But I’m not the same man now as I was then.” He gave her a long penetrating look. “God knows I tried, but it seems I couldn’t forget you. You are in my blood—in my bones. I want to see if there is anything left to salvage between us, but I cannot do it alone. I can’t force you to trust me, but neither will I have half of you.”

The cold resolve in his voice left her no doubt he meant what he said. Duncan had thrown down the gauntlet at her feet: all or nothing. Wasn’t that always how it had been between them?

Never far from her mind was the knowledge that he could be taken at any time. The close call at the inn came back to her in full force. What if she decided and it was too late?

Before she could respond he turned and left, never once looking back. She stared at the door, the panic that she’d felt moments ago welling up to claim her heart. Her heart that shouldn’t care. But the armor of the past had rusted away, leaving her unprotected and vulnerable to him.

Don’t go.
The voice of the girl she’d been escaped before the resolve of the woman she’d become could quiet it.

Would it ever be completely quiet?

She feared she knew the answer.

Duncan left the armory, cursing stubborn women. Jeannie was his, damn it. Couldn’t she feel it?

He refrained from slamming the door and venting some of his considerable frustration, and clenched his fists at his side instead.

The disappointment that had knifed through his chest at her refusal to acknowledge what was between them had done nothing to take the edge off the unspent lust that still coiled through his veins. He felt like an angry tiger in a cage and heaven help anyone who got in his way right now.

She sure as hell better make up her mind soon, because time was the one thing he did not have.

There were a few people milling about the courtyard, but they took one look at his face and turned the other way. He glanced in the direction of the practice area, near the place where he’d first seen Jeannie. He’d hoped a good sword fight would help ease his tension, but had been disappointed to discover that the guardsmen had yet to return from their morning ride. Jamie had thought it better that Duncan stay within the walls of the castle until they determined how to proceed. Having already come across more than one party of soldiers looking for him on his way south, Duncan was inclined to agree and not press his luck.

He crossed the yard, heading toward the keep, half expecting the lad to come bounding down the stairs and intercept him.

It was the boy she was protecting—not her husband. Why hadn’t he realized it before? It put an entirely new perspective on her refusal to help him—one not burdened by jealousy. But it infuriated him to think that she didn’t trust him to protect her son.

Duncan almost regretted his offer to show the lad some of the hand-to-hand combat moves he’d learned as
a lad … almost. But he’d heard the shame in the boy’s voice and it had struck a chord. He remembered only too well what it was like to be picked on. His bastardy had made him a target, and when he was Dougall’s age, his size had made him an easy one. Fortunately for him, he’d grown quickly and significantly in adolescence.

But even if the lad stayed on the small side, it didn’t mean he couldn’t distinguish himself as a warrior. Duncan felt a strange urge to help him, but knew it wasn’t his place. Jamie would see to his training.

Still, like Ella, something about the lad unsettled him—even more so. He’d felt that same heart-squeezing pain upon seeing him, and a fleeting moment of wistfulness, knowing that had circumstances been different they could have been his. With a certain amount of wishful thinking, he’d studied the boy’s face, searching for a connection and seeing only the stamp of Jeannie’s features. From what he remembered of John Grant, Jeannie’s brother, the boy looked quite a bit like him.

Duncan frowned. Except for the hair color. Like Francis Gordon, John Grant had blond hair. But then she’d kissed him and he’d forgotten everything but the passionate woman in his arms. Had that been her intention? Had she been trying to distract him?

He was halfway up the stairs when a woman cried out his name, “Duncan!”

His heart stopped. For a moment he thought it was Jeannie. But even before he turned and set eyes on the tiny, wisp of a woman who’d just come storming through the gate he knew it wasn’t her. Disappointment cut through him.

The woman didn’t bother waiting for anyone to help her down, much to the outrage of the man beside her—if the black expression on his face was any indication—but jumped off her horse and started running toward him.

The hood covering her hair flew back, revealing a crown of white-blond hair.

“Duncan,” she cried again, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Blue eyes met blue and recognition hit. A hot wave of emotion rose up to grab him by the throat. There was only one person who could be this happy to see him. “Lizzie,” he choked out and opened his arms.

Jeannie knew she should leave. She should take Dougall and return to Aboyne Castle for the Christmas and Hogmany celebration while Duncan was occupied clearing his name, before his curiosity could take hold about her son.

If she were smart, she would do just that. But she’d never been smart when it came to Duncan Campbell. Torn between wanting to run after him and wanting to run away, Jeannie had just turned the corner around the practice yard on her way back to the keep when she heard the woman’s cry.

She froze midstep, seeing a tiny woman catapult herself into Duncan’s arms.

Her heart tumbled to her feet. The spur of jealousy was as strong as it was unreasonable. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, transfixed by the sight of another woman in his arms. In her stupor, it took Jeannie longer to realize who it was. It wasn’t until the woman released her hands from around Duncan’s neck and pulled back to hold his face that Jeannie recognized Elizabeth Campbell—his sister.

The sigh of relief that poured through her was telling. Slowly, the tension eased from her neck and shoulders. After taking a moment to compose herself, Jeannie walked toward the keep, staying back so as to not interrupt the poignant reunion taking place between the siblings.

Rarely did Duncan display emotions, but his love for his sister was plain on his face.

Once he looked at me like that.

Guilt pricked at her. This is the welcome he’d deserved, she realized. The difference between Jeannie’s greeting (with a pistol!) and that of his sister’s couldn’t be more glaring. In spite of his betrayal of her, it did not change the fact that Duncan had been forced from his family, his home, his country, for a crime he didn’t commit. Likely because of her father and possibly her husband. And the only person who’d been glad to see him—who’d welcomed him back—was his sister. By contrast, Jeannie had tried to stop him every step of the way.

At first it had been warranted. But what of now? Could she trust him?

“You’re back,” Elizabeth said, just loud enough for Jeannie to make out her words. “I almost gave up hope. Oh, Duncan, it’s been so long, I thought I would never see you again.”