The Campbell Trilogy (8 page)

She turned away from him, a stubborn set to her slim shoulders. “I know everything I need to know.”

Her unqualified rejection shouldn’t bother him, but it did. Condemnation such as hers was common enough, but somehow coming from this lass it felt different. He took her arm and spun her back toward him, catching her against his legs and chest. His body surged with heat and anger. She struggled against him, but he held fast. One way or another, she would listen. “And what of you, Caitrina? What do you want? More men to fawn over your beauty? More jewels and costly gowns?”

She gasped with outrage. “You know nothing of what you speak.”

“I know that your father can deny you nothing, that you traipse around here dressed like a queen—even in the
stables—but that the feuding has taken its toll on your clan.” His gaze passed from her fine silks to the rusty tools lined up against the faded, lime-washed walls of the barn, and he could see her sudden realization. “I know that you reject every man who comes before you so you don’t have to leave the comfort and safety of your little kingdom. I know that your father was widowed many years ago and yet has never remarried. Why do you think that is, Caitrina? Is it because he worries that it would upset you and the position you have claimed in the household?”

She flinched as if he’d slapped her. It was clear no one had ever talked this way to her. “You’re wrong!” she seethed, her cheeks crimson and lovely breasts heaving. But he saw the flicker of uncertainty.

He released her, knowing he’d said enough. Stepping back, he dragged a hand through his hair, giving his body a chance to calm. He hadn’t meant to speak so harshly, but her curt dismissal of his suit—a suit he’d never intended to actually pursue—had pricked his anger. Her prejudice against the Campbells was all too common throughout the Highlands, but this lass with her bold tongue and naïve accusations had penetrated his armor like no other.

He strode toward the door and turned to look at her one more time. She stood stone still, her face pale and hands clenched at her side. Strong and proud, but surprisingly fragile. His words had left their mark. He felt a twinge of guilt, an urge to comfort, but quickly forced it aside. He’d spoken the truth; it was time Caitrina Lamont heard it. Her father was doing her no favors in keeping her ignorant of the problems and unrest in the Highlands. If Jamie’s suspicions about Alasdair MacGregor proved true, the real world would rain down on her soon enough.

Edgy after his confrontation with Caitrina, Jamie decided to return to the keep rather than join the others at the loch for the races. He’d ridden out early that morning, and except for a few oatcakes and a bit of dried beef to break his fast, he hadn’t eaten all day. As he passed across the yard, he was surprised to see the Lamont chief walking toward him, having just descended the stairs from the keep.

Jamie nodded in greeting. “Lamont. I thought you would be down at the races.”

“I had other matters to attend to.” The older man gave him an appraising stare, taking in Jamie’s dusty, windblown appearance. “You left early this morning.”

“My men and I decided to do a bit of hunting.”

“And were you successful?”

Though innocuous on its surface, Jamie was aware of the subtle undercurrent to the question. The Lamont was wary of his presence, and though Jamie’s expressed interest in the lass had deflected some of the suspicion—it hadn’t deflected all of it.

“Not this time.” But he would be. He knew the MacGregors were here. He could feel it. Though for the Lamont’s sake he hoped he was wrong.

His cousin had wanted to send troops immediately, but Jamie had convinced Argyll to wait until they had more to go on than an old tale of Highland hospitality—although the story itself provided a compelling explanation for why
the Lamonts would risk so much in sheltering the outlawed MacGregors. There was nothing more sacred in the Highlands than the age-old custom of Highland hospitality. When it was invoked, a clan was obligated to shelter even its worst enemy. The well-known tale between the Lamonts and the MacGregors was proof of its force.

Years ago, a Lamont chief had gone hunting with the son of a MacGregor chief. An argument broke out, and the Lamont took a dirk to the MacGregor’s son, killing him. The Lamont escaped but was pursued. He was forced to seek shelter at Glenstrae—the stronghold of the very man whose son he’d killed. Not knowing that the Lamont had just murdered his son, the MacGregor chief agreed to shelter the Lamont from his pursuers.

When the MacGregor clansmen showed up and told the old chief about the murder of his son, the chief—despite his grief and fury over the death of his son—according to the custom of Highland hospitality, refused to turn the Lamont over to them. Fearing that his enraged men would harm the man, the MacGregor personally escorted his son’s murderer back to Cowal.

Despite this heartbreaking loss, the bond between the two clans had been unbreakable ever since, and Jamie suspected that the time might have come for the Lamonts to pay back the MacGregor’s hospitality.

But a hunch wasn’t good enough; he needed proof.

Jamie had been watching the Lamont closely, and so far there had been no signs of anything unusual. Not that he would have expected otherwise. If the Lamont suspected Jamie’s true purpose, he would know he was being watched. Jamie’s men had the perimeter secured: No one was getting in or out of Ascog without them knowing it.

It was clear that the other man had something else on his mind as well. The look he fixed on Jamie was hard and calculating. “And what of the purpose for your visit, Campbell?”

Jamie didn’t pretend to misunderstand. He respected the other man’s challenge. “Your daughter is very beautiful.”

The old chief’s eyes narrowed. “You are in earnest, then?”

“I am.” It should have been a lie, but Jamie was surprised to realize by the vehemence in his voice and the deep sensation in his gut that he actually meant it. It was a visceral reaction, a snap decision for a man who otherwise planned everything carefully. Sometime between that first kiss and now, the ruse had become reality. He wanted her.

His tone must have impressed the Lamont as well, because he looked as though he believed him. “Why would Argyll’s cousin seek an alliance with a Lamont? As you said, my daughter is very beautiful, but her tocher is modest. I would think that your cousin would see a more lucrative connection.”

His cousin would be just as surprised as Jamie was. “My cousin wants an end to the feuding. It is something I would assume you want as well.”

“Aye,” the Lamont said reluctantly. The enmity between the two clans ran deep. Jamie admired the control of the other man, who showed little reaction when inside he must be seething at the prospect of seeing his beloved daughter married to a Campbell. But no matter how much he loved the lass, the good of the clan would come first. And an alliance with Jamie would help the Lamonts—they both knew that. “And there is no other reason?” he asked suspiciously.

“I want her.”

The Lamont gave him a long look, making Jamie wonder how much he’d revealed by the fierceness of his tone. “The lass has a way of penetrating even the most hardened heart,” he observed. “But I’d not see her harmed.”

Jamie’s jaw hardened. “I would never hurt a woman—despite what my enemies would claim. You and I may have been on opposite sides all these years, but have I given you
cause to believe otherwise?” He paused, hearing the Lamont’s silent assent. “Your daughter would want for nothing. I would protect her with my life.”

The chief nodded slowly, stroking his chin. “I will consider it.”

Jamie gave the other man a pointed look. “Of course, my cousin will want some assurances.”

The Lamont tensed. “What kind of assurances?”

“Your loyalty, for one.” He held the other man’s stare, watching his reaction carefully. “There have been rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“The kind that could get a man killed.” The punishment for harboring the proscribed MacGregors was death, and that’s what the Lamont would be facing for hiding the fugitives—the obligation of Highland hospitality or not. Jamie wasn’t without sympathy for the Lamont’s plight, choosing between his honor and the law, but he wanted to make sure the old man knew exactly what he risked.

The old chief’s expression betrayed nothing, but he nodded. “I hope you don’t always believe what you hear.”

“Not always.”

Jamie started to walk toward the stairs, knowing that he might have just given himself away. But something had compelled him to give the Lamont a warning.

Hell, was he growing soft? Jamie realized that he liked the Lamont … and his daughter.

“Campbell.”

He stopped and turned.

“I’ll not force her to wed. If you want the lass, you’ll have to convince her.”

Aye, Jamie thought, there was the rub.

Caitrina waited in the stables long after he’d left, unable to breathe, her hands fisted tightly at her side. It was all she could do to hold back the tears. No one had ever talked to her like that.

His accusations rang in her ears. Jamie Campbell had a way of making her feel foolish and frivolous. There was nothing wrong with her gown. She gazed down at the pink silk. It was one of her favorites, and she’d wanted to look her best. For him? She was a fool. She looked around; the rusty tools and chipped lime taunted her. She felt sick to her stomach.

No. He was wrong. He didn’t even know her, yet he accused her of—

She stopped, realizing that she’d accused him of the same. Of not knowing him before passing judgment.

But this was different. Jamie Campbell knew nothing of her family.

Still, after leaving the stables, Caitrina found herself searching desperately for her father—not a simple prospect in the crowds that had descended upon Ascog for the games. She passed through the gate and started down the path to the loch. There must have been a hundred people milling about the thin strip of muddy shoreline and slightly wider patch of moorland.

She put her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the bright light of the sun. The swimming races were set to begin. The competitors had lined up for the start, including her brothers Malcolm and Niall, but her father was nowhere to be seen.

He should be here. Brian tried to run past her in a pack of young boys, but she caught him by the arm. “Brian, have you seen Father?”

He shook his head. “Not since this morning, why?”

“I need to see him.”

“Have you checked the keep?”

She shook her head. “No. He should have been here for the races.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Brian said impatiently. “Can I go now?”

She could see his friends disappearing into the woods. She let go of his arm. “Go. I’ll look for him inside.”

It wasn’t like her father to disappear like this. What was going on around here?

Caitrina rushed up the path and passed through the gate, stopping midstep when she caught sight of her father speaking with Jamie Campbell across the
barmkin.
From the tense expressions on both men’s faces, she could tell it was not a friendly conversation.

When Jamie disappeared into the keep, her father seemed to sag a little, his face visibly distressed.

She ran toward him and hurled herself into his strong embrace, feeling like a child again. How many times had she done the same after a scrape or bruise or some particularly cruel brotherly teasing? Her father had always been there to wipe her tears and soothe the hurt.

Unbidden, another of Jamie’s accusations came back to her. He was wrong. She had never prevented her father from remarrying. He had loved her mother so desperately.… But her father was still a handsome man, and she knew there were many women who would be eager to take her mother’s place.
My place.

Her chest tightened, and she rested her cheek against the warm, scratchy wool of his plaid, feeling precariously close to tears.

She hated Jamie Campbell for making her feel like this. For making her fear that she was the most selfish daughter in the whole world. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“What’s this, lass? What has upset you?”

“I saw you talking with that horrible man.”

Her father pushed her back so he could look at her, his face as fierce as she’d ever seen it. “Has Campbell done anything to offend you?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing like that,” she said, putting the kiss out of her mind. “Everything about him offends
me. He’s a Campbell. And Argyll’s bloodthirsty cousin to boot.”

Her father sighed and shook his head. “You’ve been listening to gossip, Caiti Rose.”

She pushed up her chin, hearing the censure in his voice. “It’s the only way to find out anything around here since you and Malcolm and Niall never tell me anything.”

“There’s no reason for you to worry.” He patted her on the head as he always did, but this time it bothered her.

Jamie Campbell had made her feel foolish, made her feel as if she didn’t know what she was talking about. “I know all I need to know about Jamie Campbell. He’s Argyll’s Henchman, no better than a hired killer.” But even as she made the accusation, she knew it rang false.