The Campbell Trilogy (110 page)

“You really cared for him, didn’t you?” Elizabeth said, not bothering to hide her surprise.

“I loved him,” Jeannie said emotionlessly. Her misfortune was that her love was not returned. Not enough to really matter. And she would pay dearly for her mistake.

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you betrayed him.”

“I didn’t—” she stopped, staring into Elizabeth’s hard, unyielding eyes so like her brother’s. It didn’t matter. This girl would not believe her.

“I think you should go before anyone else finds you here.”

Jeannie nodded. She had no reason to stay.

A short time later, Jeannie left Castleswene and all illusions of love and happiness behind.

I’m a fool. I learned nothing from my mother’s mistakes.

But she would not let him destroy her. Only one thing mattered now: The life of the babe she carried in her belly. The reason she’d been so desperate to find Duncan. She would do whatever it took to protect her child against the scandal her own impetuousness had rained down upon them both.

Ten Years Later, Present Day

She’d actually shot him.

Duncan would laugh if he could manage anything other than a grimace. The greatest warrior from Ireland to cross the continent brought down by a lass—and a naked one at that. There was irony in it, he supposed, but he was in too much damned pain to appreciate it.

Had he actually thought he could convince her to help him? That she might be willing to atone for the injustice she’d done him all those years ago? He’d held out a small ray of hope.

But this woman who stared at him with hatred in her eyes was not the girl he remembered. She’d changed. All the vivacity and spirit seemed to have been leached right out of her, replaced by calm, cool resolve. Bold green eyes that had once sparkled with excitement now glittered as hard as cold emeralds. A mouth once turned in a perpetual smile and inclined to excited chatter was pursed in a flat line.

What had changed her? Had life been so unkind?

He shouldn’t—didn’t—care. Hell, perhaps he should even think it fitting revenge for the life she’d stolen from him. But he found he could not muster the enthusiasm for the revenge that had once been his only solace in the long, lonely nights when the unwanted memories struck. Revenge was the province of bitterness, and he’d relinquished
that long ago. Now all Duncan wanted was the truth.

If he lived long enough to find it. Not only had Jeannie put a hole in his stomach, she was also apparently eager to put a noose around his neck. Before he wouldn’t have thought her capable of such vindictiveness, but he did not doubt the resolve of the woman standing before him. He was glad the pistol she carried only had one shot or he had no doubt he’d find himself riddled with holes.

He heard the sound of footsteps running toward him, his men responding to the gunfire. Summoning what was left of the strength that had not bled out of him, he gritted his teeth, held his hand to his stomach just below the edge of his leather plated cuirass to staunch the bleeding, and fought to a stand.

He staggered. For a moment the pain engulfed him and his mind went black. He tensed, bracing against the firestorm raging inside him, and managed to stave off unconsciousness.

She stood stone still, making no move to help him.

Conall tore through the trees. “Captain, we heard—” He stopped in his tracks, stunned to see Duncan’s condition. “What in Hades …?”

Duncan motioned to Jeannie. “Conall. Leif. Meet Lady Gordon.” The name curdled in his mouth.

There was a long pause as his men absorbed—none too easily—the significance.

It was Leif who spoke first. “The
lass
shot you?”

“I’m afraid so,” Duncan said wryly, finding the patent incredulity in his captain’s voice somewhat of a salve to his skewered pride.

Conall whistled and shook his head, crossing thick arms across a chest that would make a bear envious. “The men won’t believe this. No one has ever gotten the jump on you.”

“Well, she did.” Twice, in fact, if you counted her stealing the map while he slept in sated bliss. It was a lesson well learned. He’d never lost control like that again, never allowed himself to succumb to such connubial stupor.

Leif recovered first, removing a square of dirty linen from his sporran and handing it to Duncan. The Norseman had been quick to adopt the practical and convenient leather pouch worn around the waist, in addition to the
breacan feile
, the belted plaid, of the Highlands.

Duncan took the cloth, though it wasn’t going to do much good. It was like trying to dam a rushing burn with a scrap of parchment. “There’s no time to tarry. We must go before the entire garrison rains down upon us to investigate.”

Conall frowned. “But I thought the lass—”

“I was mistaken.” Duncan eyed Jeannie, seeing nothing but hardness. “The woman will be of no help to me.”

Perhaps he’d been a fool to think she ever would. She’d chosen her side years ago, supporting—nay, aiding—her treacherous father.

For weeks after he’d left Scotland, Duncan had done something he never did: second-guessed himself. He’d racked his head to find another explanation. But either he’d lost the map on the battlefield and it had miraculously ended up in Grant’s hands, someone had taken it while he slept the few hours in his tent, or the far more logical explanation that Jeannie had taken it. Her oddly worded note, her determination that he not leave, the rearrangement of his belongings all pointed to her. Still, something ate at him. He couldn’t forget how she’d looked that night he’d surprised her in her chamber—the last time he’d seen her. She’d appeared, she’d sounded, she’d seemed … 
innocent.

Unable to reconcile the sweet girl he knew with the
manipulative schemer anger had created in his mind, he’d decided to return. Then, right before he was to set sail, word reached him of her marriage to Francis Gordon.

She hadn’t even waited a month. Three weeks after he’d left, barely escaping with his life, she’d married. While he’d been agonizing about whether he’d committed a grave injustice against her, she’d been lying in the arms of another man.

The swift marriage confirmed his worst fears. It begat the darkest period of his life, the time when he’d earned his fearsome reputation. Eventually the gut-wrenching betrayal had given way to the faint pinch of discomfort he felt now. But even that tiny remnant of weakness infuriated him.

His men moved to either side of him to hold him by his elbows, but before they had taken a few steps, the sounds of approaching men—by the sounds of it a good many—stopped them. It was too late. The Gordon guardsmen were already there. If he wasn’t about to collapse escape would have been possible, but hampered by the ball of lead in his belly … Well, Jeannie would have her chance to see that noose around his neck soon enough.

“My lady!” The calls echoed through the trees.

Duncan turned and looked at Jeannie, his gaze locking on hers. He knew better than to put himself at her mercy, but he had no choice. “What’s it to be,
Lady Gordon?
Will you help me or turn me in?” Why he bothered to ask he didn’t know. He could see the answer in her eyes.

“Here,” Jeannie called out, answering the concerned cries of her guardsmen. “I’m here.”

At least a score of clansmen broke through the trees, surrounding them, hagbuts and pistols drawn, swords brandished. When they saw the three strangers, they immediately
took aim, intending to finish the job she’d started.

At least it would be fast. Ten years of waiting and it all came down to this. He should have known better than to think he would find mercy in the hands of the woman who’d betrayed him. He heard the click—

“Wait!”

All eyes turned to Jeannie. Except for his. His had been glued to her the whole time. Watching. Challenging. Seeing whether she had the stomach to do what she threatened.

“I …” she faltered.

She couldn’t do it. It shocked him almost as much as it did her. His eyes narrowed. Was there a glimmer of softness left in that cold heart after all or was some other game at play?

Their eyes met for an instant before she looked away, seemingly disgusted with herself. “Lower your weapons. There’s been a mistake,” she said calmly. “I was caught by surprise. These men mean me no harm.”

Jeannie couldn’t do it. Her chest twisted, though any emotion for this man had been wrung out of it long ago.
I should. For all the pain and suffering you put me through, I should.

But as much as she wanted to send him to the devil, at the moment of truth she’d looked into his eyes and the words would not come.

Lord knew why. She owed him nothing. Indeed, he could destroy everything she’d fought so hard to protect. But hers would not be the hand that spelled his doom.

Her spurious decision seemed to have surprised Duncan as much as it did her.

Adam, the captain of her guardsmen, eyed her uncertainly
, his gaze flickering to the three imposing warriors. “Who are they?”

Good question. She thought quickly. “Guardsmen hired by my brother. Additional protection after the recent events.”

She felt Duncan’s questioning gaze on her, but ignored it. Her troubles were no business of his.

Adam straightened. “We have men enough,” he said, obviously taking umbrage at the suggestion that he was not equipped to see to her protection himself. Ignoring that Duncan and his men had managed to break through the perimeter he’d set up easily enough.

“I’m sure my brother meant no disrespect,” Jeannie said, attempting to mollify the disgruntled warrior. “But you know how upset he was. I will tell him these men are unnecessary, but until then we need to get him back to the castle.”

Appeased, the captain looked around. “Where’s Tavish?”

“There was a slight misunderstanding,” Duncan provided, his voice raspy.

How he managed to stand with a hole in his belly she didn’t know. She bit her lip. Mother Mary, he was pale.

“From where he was positioned, I didn’t realize he was protecting the lass.”

There was something in the tone of Duncan’s voice that caught the captain’s attention. “I see,” Adam said grimly.

Jeannie looked back and forth between the two men, realizing she’d missed something. But now that she’d made her decision, she was anxious to have it done. The sooner she got him back on his feet, the sooner he would be on his way. She hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake. “Adam, have your men show our guest to the tower. We will put him in the empty chamber in the garret.”

The significance occurred to her too late. Her chest squeezed. It had been her son’s chamber.

Adam lifted his brow in surprise, but did not question her decision to place a guardsman in the tower house. “Aye, my lady.”

“I will find the healer.”

“I saw her in the garden earlier,” one of the younger guardsmen offered.

“Thank you, William.”

The handsome warrior beamed at her praise and that she’d called him by his given name. But it was not a sign of particular favor; Jeannie made it a point to know everyone in the castle.

She thought Duncan’s eyes narrowed, but she turned her back on him and went in search of the healer. Did he think William was something to her? Let him.

By the time she’d found the healer and they’d started to make their way into the keep, her mother-in-law had had plenty of time to be apprised of the situation. Not surprisingly, Jeannie found her path blocked at the entry.

“I told you no good would come of this flight of fancy of yours,” the Marchioness said.

Jeannie gritted her teeth. “So you did. But as you are no doubt aware, a man has been shot and is in need of the healer.”

“You shot him.” It was a statement, not a question.

“An accident.” This time. “I thought he was another ruffian.”

And before the Marchioness could issue another one of her I-told-you-sos, Jeannie brushed past her and led the healer up the stairs to the top level of the tower house.

A small landing separated three small chambers. Adam occupied the largest, the one with the view of the surrounding countryside so he could keep apprised of
any attack, the nursemaid slept in a mural chamber next to it, and then beside hers was the small chamber that had belonged to her son and was now crammed full with towering, muscle-bound, mail-clad warriors.

She stood at the door as the healer attempted to squeeze around the blond brute. His icy Nordic looks sent a chill running through her. Which was a good thing as it was hot as Hades in here. She didn’t know what it was with men—especially warriors—but they seemed to radiate heat.

Duncan lay on the small bed, his feet hanging well over the edge. His face was flush and his eyes, burning with pain or hatred she didn’t know, fixed on her.

“Your men will have to leave,” she said firmly.

The two henchmen drew themselves up to their full height—barely missing the wood-raftered ceiling—and squared their prodigiously broad chests like two over-protective bears who had every intention of digging in their heels. She met the burly red-haired man’s—an Irishman by the sound of him—gaze and smiled sweetly. “I promise not to do him any more harm.”