The Campbell Trilogy (2 page)

“How can I promise when I don’t know what it is?”

At only two and ten, Brian had yet to develop firm negotiating skills. He gave up bargaining and started with excuses. “It wasn’t my fault,” he hedged. “I told Una—”

At the mention of the little girl’s name, Caitrina guessed what was wrong. “Oh, Brian! How many times have I told you to keep those beastly dogs away from the kittens?”

He looked down at his feet, shamefaced. “I told Una that I was taking the lads out, but she forgot to close the door to the stables, and then, well, it happened so fast. Boru was just playing, but the silly cat ran up the tree.”

Caitrina groaned. “What tree?”

Brian grimaced. “The old oak. Caiti, please, you have to help me get the kitten down before Una finds out. She’ll cry.” He kicked at the wooden floor uncomfortably. “I hate it when she cries.”

Caitrina met Mor’s gaze. Una was her granddaughter, and Mor had a soft spot for the little girl.

“I’ll see if I can keep her occupied while you,” Mor said, stabbing her finger at Brian’s lanky chest, “get that kitten out of the tree.”

“Come, Caiti, hurry,” he said, dragging her by the hand from her solar.

It wasn’t until they’d stepped outside the keep and started toward the gate in the
barmkin
wall that the curious stares of her clansmen reminded her that she was still wearing her new gown—and no shoes. Though the skies were blue, the ground was damp from this morning’s rain, and mud squished between her toes. Knowing there was nothing she could do about it now, she lifted her skirts as best she could to keep from soiling the hem.

“You might have given me a moment to change my gown,” she grumbled.

Brian spared her a hurried glance. “Why? You look fine.”

She rolled her eyes.
Brothers.
She could be wearing a sackcloth and they wouldn’t notice.

After passing through the gate, they headed down the path, taking the right fork that led toward the woodlands—the left led down to Loch Ascog. On the eve of the games, the outbuildings along the banks of the loch were bustling with activity, but as she and Brian hurried toward the trees it was surprisingly quiet, except for Boru’s barking, which grew louder as they neared the great old oak. The Lamonts descended from the great kings of Éire, and Brian had named the dog after his namesake—Brian Boru, the famed high king of centuries past.

“You left the dog here?”

Her brother reddened. “I told him to go home, but he wouldn’t listen. Since the silly cat was already stuck in the tree, I figured it wouldn’t matter.”

“He’s probably scared the poor thing half to death.” She turned to the dog and said sharply, “Boru!” He stopped barking and looked at her, head cocked at an inquisitive angle. She pointed in the direction of the castle, no longer visible through the trees. “Home.”

With a soft whimper, Boru nuzzled her skirts and gave her an apologetic look with his soulful brown eyes. She shook her head, refusing to be moved. The dog certainly had a gift for the dramatics. “Home, Boru.” Whimpering again, this one even more pathetic, the great deerhound hung his head low and trotted back toward the castle.

“I don’t know how you do that,” Brian said, amazed. “You’re the only one he listens to.”

Caitrina pursed her lips, biting back the quick retort that sprang to mind: Because she was the only one who gave him commands. Without her, the dogs would be as wild as wolves. Though she supposed much the same could be said about her brothers.

Gazing up through the maze of branches, she gasped, just able to make out the tiny bundle of orange-and-white fur. “How did he get way up there?”

“When I tried to climb up after him, he just kept going higher, which is why I ran to get you. He’s scared of me.”

She turned to her brother with a start. “You can’t expect me to climb up there?”

“Why did you think I brought you out here?” He appeared genuinely perplexed. “The cat won’t come to me. He likes you, and you’ve climbed this tree a hundred times.”

“Years ago,” she said with exasperation. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m long past the age for tree climbing.”

“Why? You’re not all
that
old.”

Caitrina was going to have to work on his flattery skills if Brian was going to have any hope of ever wooing a lass. Although with his face, it probably wouldn’t matter. What her brothers lacked in gallantry and manners, they made up for in countenance. They were rogues, the lot of them, but she loved them beyond measure. How could her father think she would ever want to leave them? They
needed
her … and she them. Whatever it took, she intended to stay right here.

Attempting to reason with Brian was getting her nowhere. “I’m not going up there. I’ll help boost you up or you’ll have to find someone else.”

He wore an expression of dejection that rivaled Boru’s moments earlier. “But why?”

“This dress, for one.”

“Please, Caiti, there’s no one else. Father, Malcolm, and Niall are hunting with the men, and the others are busy with the preparations for the feast.”

That’s strange.
“I thought they finished hunting.”

Brian frowned. “I did, too, but they all ran out of here in a hurry this morning. Father looked worried, and when I asked him where they were going he said hunting. So you see, there is no one else. Please, Caiti.…”

As if on cue, the kitten began to mewl. The frightened plea tugged at her heartstrings.
God save her from man and beast.
Furious, she turned her back to her brother. “Oh, very well, but help me out of this thing.” Even if the fates appeared to be conspiring against her, she had no intention of ruining her new dress.

He threw his long, gangly arms around her. “You’re the best sister in the whole world! I knew I could count on you.”

She sighed; it was impossible to stay angry with him for long. No longer a boy and not yet a man, Brian was that odd age in between. Already taller than she, in a few years she knew he would add the muscle and bulk of a warrior
like Malcolm and Niall—her two older brothers. Brian had been only a bairn when their mother died, and Caitrina had always taken care of him. Though he hadn’t been sent away to be fostered as most young boys were, he would leave soon to become a squire for a neighboring chief. She felt a pang in her chest, wishing she could hold time in a bottle.

After giving him a short squeeze, she hurried him about the business of removing her gown—which wasn’t a simple proposition. Overskirt, farthingale, underskirt, forepart, and sleeves were peeled away, layer by layer, until all she wore was her sark and stays. As she was going to have to lift her arms above her head, the stays would also have to be removed, but Brian was having a difficult time working the ties. She could hear him mutter with frustration, until eventually he gave up and started yanking and pulling.

“Ouch!” she said. “Be careful.”

“I’m trying, but this isn’t easy. Why do you wear all this stuff, anyway?”

Good question. One ripe for a nonanswer. “Because that’s what ladies wear.”

Once he’d finally extracted her from the linen and whalebone, the stays joined her gown across the fallen log. Though the linen sark she wore covered her well enough, she wanted to get this over with before anyone happened upon them. Although it would be unlikely, since this part of the woods was some distance from the main road, it would be embarrassing to be caught in her underclothes.

She studied the tree appraisingly, plotting her course. It
had
been quite a few years. It was the tallest tree in these parts, and the kitten had managed to climb near the top. “I’ll need a boost.”

Brian bent down on one knee, and she used his leg as a step to reach the lowest branch. The bark scratched the bottoms of her feet as she climbed from branch to branch, slowly working her way up as though on an uneven ladder.
“Ouch!” she yelped when her foot snagged on a sharp piece of bark. Her feet and hands were going to be torn to shreds by the time she was done.

The kitten watched her approach with wide, anxious eyes, meowing plaintively. She could see him shaking as she neared his precarious perch, so she made soft, soothing noises to calm him. The branches thinned as she climbed higher, and she had to stop and test each one before moving on. Finally, she reached the kitten, who had climbed about five feet out on a thin branch that she knew wouldn’t be able to hold her weight. Instead, she used it to balance and carefully eased out sideways along the lower branch, gripping tightly with her feet.

“Be careful,” Brian warned.

She resisted the urge to shoot him a glare, not wanting to look down. As if she needed a reminder. Her heart thumped with each step. It was slow work. She had to stop to get her balance with foot forward as the lower branch swayed to accommodate her weight. One more …

Her fingers grasped soft fur.

“You’ve got him!” she heard Brian shout from below.

A burst of accomplishment surged through her. She gathered the tiny ball to her chest and felt the race of the heartbeat that surely matched her own. His little claws poked her through the thin fabric of her sark as he clung to her for dear life.

Now for the hard part.
She had only one hand this time to keep her balance as she slowly made her way back along the branch. When she was safely near the trunk, she breathed a sigh of relief. Glancing down, she saw that Brian had climbed up a few branches below her.

“Here, I’ll take him,” he offered.

Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to climb down with one hand, she carefully lowered the kitten into her brother’s outstretched hands. He tucked the small bundle behind his
leather jerkin, ambled down a few branches, and dropped easily to the ground.

She took a moment to catch her breath and steady her heartbeat, then started to work her way down.

“Thanks, Caiti,” he shouted, “you’re the best.”

She turned at the sound of his fading voice, but it was already too late.

“Wait, Brian, I need your …” Her voice dropped off.
Help.
She could just make out his back as he turned the corner out of earshot, running back toward the castle.

“Brothers,” she muttered. “Some thanks. When I get hold of him …”

She looked down, realizing she was still too far off the ground. A few more branches and she should be able to drop just like Brian. Carefully, she grasped a branch with her hands and lowered one foot and then the other—

The sound of a loud crack signaled disaster. For a moment her stomach rose to her chin, body weightless as she dropped. She grasped the branch above her head just as the one under her feet cracked at the trunk and bent at a perilous angle to the ground. Her brother’s weight must have weakened it. If she let go now, the branch would probably give way entirely and she’d go crashing to the ground. She wasn’t quite hanging by her fingertips, but almost.

She was also stuck. She looked down past her toes. The ground was at least fifteen feet below—still too far to attempt a drop.

She’d have to wait until Brian remembered. She groaned, realizing she might be here all night.

When I get hold of him …

“I think you already said that.”

Caitrina gasped at the sound of a deep voice—a deep
male
voice. She looked down and her eyes locked on the steely gaze of a stranger who stood a few feet away, watching her with an amused glint in his eyes. How long he’d been standing there she didn’t know, but it had been long
enough for him to dismount from the massive destrier at his side.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or embarrassed—probably a little of both. She had need of a rescuer but would have preferred him not to be so—she frowned, searching for the right word—
masculine.
Blatantly so.

From her current position hanging so far from the ground, it was difficult to gauge precisely, but she would guess he stood at least a handful of inches over six feet. A giant by any standard—even a Highland one.

If he was a Highlander.

He’d spoken in Scots and not in the Highland tongue, but she thought she’d detected a hint of brogue in his voice. It was difficult to tell from his clothing. He wasn’t wearing the
breacan feile
of the Highlands, but that wasn’t unusual for a man of wealth and position. And on that account she had no doubt. Even from a distance she could see that the black leather doublet and trews he wore were of exceptional quality.

But the fine clothing did little to camouflage the savage beauty of his broad chest and powerfully muscled arms and legs. His impressive build coupled with the enormous
claidheamhmór
sword he wore slung across his back left no doubt in her mind that he was a warrior. And she’d wager an impressive one at that.

But it was more than his size that bothered her. She would also have preferred a rescuer who wasn’t quite so dominating. It was everything about him: his wide commanding stance, the stamp of absolute authority on his face, and the bold way he looked at her. His manner unsettled her so much that it took her a moment to realize how handsome he was. Arrogantly so—as if his expertly chiseled features were a mere afterthought to the force of his overpowering masculinity.

She wasn’t alone in her perusal.

Her body prickled with awareness. Dear God, the way
he was looking at her … at
all
of her. His gaze roamed her body from head to toe, lingering at her breasts long enough for a blush to rise in her cheeks. Suddenly she became very conscious of her nearly undressed state. The sark that had seemed a suitable covering a short while ago now felt as insubstantial as gossamer silk under his penetrating stare. It felt as though he could see right through the linen to her bare skin.

She’d always been protected by her father and brothers; no man had ever dared to look at her like this—as if she were a juicy plum ripe for the picking.

And Caitrina didn’t like it one bit. She might not be dressed as one right now, but any man of sense could see that she was a lady—even if he didn’t notice the fancy gown that was plain as day right under his nose.

Who was this bold warrior who held himself like a king?