The Campbell Trilogy (100 page)

“You’ll have to find another lass,” his father said, more gently than Duncan had ever heard him speak.

Duncan shook his head stubbornly. “There is no other lass.” His voice was hollow and ragged. He needed to make his father understand. “I love her.”

The flicker of compassion in his father’s face was cold comfort. “I’m sorry.”

This was the last thing Duncan had expected. He’d always been able to count on his father’s support. Always. “You can’t do this.”

“It’s already done.”

The cool finality of his tone set off a flare of anger inside Duncan. “You don’t understand …”

All of a sudden his father did. Fury quickly drowned out whatever sympathy his father had just felt. He jumped to his feet, reached across the table, and grabbed Duncan by the edge of his leather doublet—his eyes as hard as ice. “What the hell have you done?”

Duncan wrenched away. He wasn’t a lad anymore, ready to take whatever punishment his father dolled out. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done, but neither would he be taken to task for it. “Nothing more than what is natural between two people who love each other and intend to marry,” he said evenly, not shrinking from the anger in his father’s cold gaze.

“What the hell could you have been thinking?” The look his father directed at him was one Duncan had never seen before—of disappointment and disgust. “Obviously you were thinking with what hangs between your legs and not your head.”

“It wasn’t like that.” But he knew it was.

His father slammed his hand down on the table with such force the room shook. “Call it what you will, but it
doesn’t change the fact that what you have done could well jeopardize everything we’ve been working for. I trusted you with an important mission and this is how you repay that trust?” Duncan’s face went white. “Do you think Grant will join us if he discovers you have seduced his daughter? The king is counting on his support and if this war against Huntly fails because of this you can be damned sure who he will blame. You’ve dishonored yourself and this family.” His gaze chilled. “You’ve reached too high, boy.”

Duncan flinched, feeling as if he’d just been stabbed in the back by the person he’d trusted the most in this world.
Bastard. Mongrel. Whoreson. Scoundrel.
He thought of all the disparaging comments people had made over the years about his birth, but how it had never mattered because his father hadn’t felt that way.

He was wrong.

His eyes pricked with heat. Furious, Duncan fought off the emotion. He was a man, and it was clear he had only himself to rely upon. He told himself it shouldn’t matter. His bastard blood would not dictate his future, but it didn’t dull the pain of having his father so brutally shove the shame of his birth down his throat.

Duncan straightened his back and squared his shoulders, summoning every ounce of his stubborn Highlander pride. He’d never let his father know how much he’d hurt him. “You do not need to remind me of the circumstances of my birth. I am well aware of my bastardy. It didn’t matter to the woman I hoped to marry, I never expected it to matter to the man who made me so.”

He saw the flicker in his father’s gaze and knew his barb had struck. Beneath his anger, Duncan felt a wave of sadness. Never again would he look on his father as his ally—his champion. Perhaps he’d been a fool to do so in the first place.

That which had been left unsaid his whole life had
now been said, and it would never be the same between them again. He wasn’t the equal of his brothers and sister. He was an outsider and always would be.

With a pained glance, Duncan turned on his heel and left.

Freuchie Castle, Moray, Two Weeks Later

Jeannie could barely contain her excitement as she moved about the Great Hall attending to the comfort of their unexpected “guests.”

Her heart fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. Duncan was here.

After two long weeks, she would finally see him again.

She smiled at Colin Campbell and thanked him for the compliment, her father was quite proud of the castle
cuirm.
Though there was a superficial resemblance between Duncan and his younger brother, Colin did not yet have the air of authority possessed by Duncan. At eight and ten only a few years separated them, but Colin seemed a mere lad in comparison.

She answered his questions about their brewing method as best she could and tried to prevent herself from constantly looking past his shoulder toward the door, waiting for Duncan to exit the laird’s solar with her father, his father, and the young Earl of Argyll.

The throng of Campbell warriors had arrived with little warning, seeking not just a night of Highland Hospitality, but also, she realized, to conscript her father and Clan Grant into joining them.

War with Huntly, it seemed, had become unavoidable. Though she knew it was unwarranted, she couldn’t prevent the prickle of fear at the thought of Duncan marching off to battle. The thought of losing him …

She forced herself to push away the ill omen, knowing it was bad luck to think of death.

But the realization that this was how it would be for the foreseeable future as the wife of a warrior was sobering.

She’d been surprised that Duncan had not waited to see her, but had immediately retired to the solar with her father and his guardsmen. She’d hoped for a wee bit of reassurance before the subject of their marriage was broached to her father, but he hadn’t even looked at her.

She knew her father would not be easily persuaded, but had full faith in Duncan. He would fight for her, of that she was sure. Surely her father will see him for the man he was?

Still, she couldn’t help being nervous. Not for the first time, she wiped her palms in the folds of her skirts. Her father was so distracted lately, out of sorts, with mysterious riders coming and going at all times of night. Perhaps it wasn’t the best time …

Heat flooded her cheeks, realizing that Colin was staring at her. He must have asked her a question. “I’m sorry?”

“I was just asking whether you enjoyed the hunt?”

Jeannie nodded. “Very much. Though I’m fearfully out of practice with a bow.”

“I would be happy to help you reclaim your former glory.”

Jeannie laughed. “I’m afraid I was never that accomplished. Are you a bowman as well?”

He arched a brow. “As well?”

The gesture was so reminiscent of something Duncan would do that it took her aback for a moment. “I … I’ve heard that your brother is an accomplished archer,” she stumbled, the heat in her cheeks no doubt giving far too much away.

He gave her a strange look, before his mouth curved in a wry smile. “There is little that my brother does not do well.”

He said it matter-of-factly, but Jeannie detected a sudden hardening in his gaze and wondered whether there was something behind the observation. It must be difficult having a brother as accomplished as Duncan—he was quite a lot to live up to. “You have more than one brother, I believe,” she said, turning the conversation from Duncan. It was too hard for her to feign disinterest.

Colin nodded. “Jamie is a squire for our cousin Argyll at Inveraray. I also have a younger sister, Elizabeth. She’s at Inveraray as well with the countess while we are away.” He was looking at her so intently that Jeannie self-consciously swiped her face with the back of her hand, worried that a crumb of the cake she’d pilfered from the kitchen had lingered on her face. “I hope that I will be able to take you hunting soon. I should like to get to know you better.”

Jeannie smiled. “I should like that …”

But her words fell off because at that moment Duncan entered the room.

Instinctively her eyes shot to his, seeking that connection she’d grown so accustomed to.

But the gaze that met hers was nothing like she was used to. It was hard and black and filled with an emotion she’d never seen in him before—rage.

The last two weeks had been the most difficult of Duncan’s life as he struggled with what to do. His duty demanded he step aside—at least until the battle with Huntly was won. But every instinct warred against it. Jeannie was his, and he wanted her. He’d never begrudged his brother his position as heir and
tanaiste
, but he did so now.

To walk into the hall and see Jeannie and Colin together set off every ugly emotion he possessed, and some
he didn’t know he had—anger, resentment, and even jealousy.

He’d be damned if he’d stand aside. Not this time. Not with Jeannie. He would bide his time, but whatever it took, she would be his wife.

He felt his father’s presence at his side. “Have care, lad, you wear your emotions for all to see,” he warned under his breath. “We have what we came for, do not do anything to give Grant cause to reconsider.”

Grant had agreed not only to march with them toward Strathbogie Castle to battle with Huntly, but also to consider the betrothal with Colin. It had taken every ounce of Duncan’s self-control to sit there and hold his tongue while a marriage between his brother and the woman he loved was being bantered back and forth.

But to see them together … his forbearance apparently had its limits. A hot dirk seemed firmly wedged between his ribs. Just for a moment, the easy smile Jeannie bestowed upon his brother made Duncan wonder if she would be as opposed to the match as he wanted her to be.

His brother was the heir, and he was a bastard. A favored one, to be sure, but for how long if he defied his father? Marriage to Jeannie could well jeopardize his position with his father and cousin—everything he’d fought so hard to achieve could be gone.

Duncan didn’t respond to his father, but forced his gaze from Jeannie and tried to get a rein on the angry emotions surging through him. He’d do best to avoid her until he could see her alone—which, by the look of it, might not be for some time.

The Great Hall of Freuchie Castle, the stronghold of Clan Grant, had been set out for a spectacular feast. The large, cavernous room with its high-beamed ceilings and
colorful tapestries adorning the plastered walls seemed ablaze in candlelight and silver.

Above the fireplace on a thick wood mantle sat the fabled Skull of the Comyn—the macabre trophy taken after an ill-fated romance between a Comyn and a Grant a few hundred years ago. Legend had it that if the skull was ever lost, so too would the Grants lose their lands in Strathspey.

Turning back to the feast, he noted the great platters of roasted game and hearty root vegetables set out upon the festively decorated tables laden with flagons of claret and the castle
cuirm.

Considering the late notice of their arrival, it was an impressive display. And he knew who was responsible. He should be pleased to discover that the woman he intended to marry would make a fine chatelaine, but instead it only served to make him angrier, driving home everything he might deprive her of.

He wasn’t the only one to appreciate her efforts. The battle-hardened Grant chief fairly beamed with pride as he gazed approvingly at his beautiful young daughter. Jeannie caught her father’s gaze and smiled, her cheeks pink with pleasure from the unspoken praise.

The simple exchange unsettled him. The easy affection from the normally gruff warrior was a harsh reminder. Duncan knew how close they were. Would Jeannie really be able to defy her father and run away with him if necessary?

The Campbells took their seats at the high table. Duncan was seated on the end, Colin, he couldn’t help but notice, had been seated next to Jeannie.

Duncan filled his tankard to the rim with ale and spent the better part of the next two hours keeping it that way. But not even the dulling haze of drink could take the edge off the foulness of his temper.

Once he glanced up to find Jeannie staring at him.
Their eyes met and held for an instant before he quickly turned away, but he’d caught the look of confused hurt in her gaze.

She didn’t understand why he was so angry, why he was avoiding her. But any twinge of guilt he might have felt was smothered by the tinkling sound of her laugh, floating down the long length of the table minutes later.

Anger simmered dangerously inside him. He didn’t need to look to know who the recipient of that laughter was. Instead, he clenched his jaw and reached for his tankard.

He won’t even look at me.

Jeannie fought the panic rising in her chest, but as the evening wore on she couldn’t ignore the truth—something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

Duncan hadn’t broached the subject of an alliance with her father, of that she was sure. Her father was in too good of spirits.

Had Duncan reconsidered? Did he no longer wish to marry her?

No.
She couldn’t believe that of him. It had to be something else.

I should go to him.
Perhaps he didn’t realize …

She took a few steps toward him and stopped. Heat crawled up her cheeks when she realized what she was doing—chasing him down, running after him. Making a fool out of herself.

She hadn’t been able to prevent her gaze from drifting down the table to him for most of the meal, hoping for some sign, some meager show of reassurance.

Look at me. Please, look at me.

But she was to be disappointed.

The only time their eyes met, he looked away so sharply, Jeannie felt as if he’d struck her, so powerful was the blow.

It was as if he didn’t know her. As if he’d never held her in his arms and joined his body with hers. As if he’d never said he loved her.

She’d heard the stories of other girls at court who’d been foolish enough to succumb to a handsome face, silken tongue, and promise of marriage. Girls who’d been disgraced. But what she and Duncan had was different … wasn’t it?

She felt ill, fighting back the queasiness rising to the back of her throat.

This couldn’t be happening.

Despite the blade slowly forging its way into her heart, she did her best to entertain her guests. She’d been surprised to find Colin seated beside her—rather than the Earl of Argyll as befitted his rank—but Duncan’s brother proved to be an amusing dinner companion, undoubtedly much more so than his grim cousin would have been. But he was no substitute for the man she wanted beside her.