The Campbell Trilogy (117 page)

She lifted her eyes back to his. “Perhaps I have more faith in you, than you have in me.”

The rebuke was not without effect. Should he have trusted her when all evidence pointed against her? With Jeannie he’d let himself get carried away. He’d allowed his feelings for her to affect his judgment, something that had never happened to him before and he didn’t like. When he thought she’d betrayed him, he’d been ashamed of falling trap to his emotions. He’d felt responsible for the loss of the battle and for his father’s death. In his shame and anger had he rushed to judgment? It would be a horrible irony given what had happened to him.

Could he have failed her so miserably? He recoiled from the thought, reminding himself that even if she hadn’t taken the map, she’d still made her choice. And no matter what she tried to claim now, it had never been him. “Faith? It wasn’t in me. You never would have defied your father. Your actions are proof enough of that.”

Her eyes flashed with green fire. “How can you say that?” Her tiny fist landed on his chest with surprising force. “Was my innocence not enough for you? What more proof did you want from me?”

The fact that she’d given herself to him had always bothered him. But he’d convinced himself that it had been unintentional. That like him she’d been carried away by the moment. She had cared for him, just not enough.

He grabbed her hand and held it firm against his chest, his heart pounding. “You said you loved me and agreed to marry me. Your loyalty should have been with me, but you chose your father. You knew he intended treachery and chose to say nothing. You let me ride away, knowing I might not come back.” His voice shook with emotion he could no longer contain. “My father died because of that battle, Jeannie.”

Tears sprang in her eyes to slide down her pale cheeks. His hand lifted but he checked the impulse. He would not comfort her, damn it.

“I’m sorry. I tried to warn you. But what would you have me do? I knew that if I told you, my father’s life would have been forfeit. Would you have kept my secret and said nothing to your cousin?”

His mouth fell in a tight line. “Of course I would have told my cousin.”

She dropped her gaze and tried to pull away. “Then I was right to say nothing.”

But he wouldn’t let her go. He held her wrist and took a step toward her, backing her against the wall, using his body to corner her. She’d started this≔ she would damn well finish it. “The hell you were. Where’s that faith you mentioned? I would have protected you and your father, but you never gave me the opportunity.”

“How could you? You were just a bastard son. What could you have done against the Earl of Argyll and his powerful cronies?”

He flushed with anger, his teeth clenched.
Just a bastard.
It didn’t matter that her words had not been said with scorn, the truth still pricked. “I wouldn’t have turned your father over to my cousin to be killed. I would have gone to your father first, told him that his treachery had been discovered and given him the opportunity to get away
before
any damage had been done.”

Her eyes rounded with surprise, the dark velvety
lashes sweeping like a raven’s wing against the pale skin of her brow. “I never thought …” Her voice dropped off. But when she lifted her eyes to his again, he could see she didn’t believe him. “ ’Tis easy for you to say now. But I remember how you were then, a young, ambitious warrior trying to erase the stain of your birth. You were the quintessential chivalrous knight—all nobility and honor with little tolerance for deception or injustice. Letting my father go would have put you at odds with your clan. You would never have done anything to blacken your name.”

Fury cracked like a whip inside him, shattering whatever rein he’d had on his control. Chivalrous knight? God, it was laughable. Not with her. Never with her.

He leaned into her, her breasts brushing against his chest, his skin crackled, the flames stoking hotter. It was all he could do not to slam her up against the wall and kiss her until the raging inferno inside him quieted. How did she still do this to him? Turn him into someone he didn’t even recognize?

He heard her sharp intake of breath and saw the frantic pulse in her throat that echoed the beating of her heart. He slid his fingers around her neck, placing his thumb over the tiny flutter. He lowered his face to hers, forcing her to him. “Don’t you understand? I
loved
you. I would have done anything for you.
Anything.
Honor? Duty? They meant nothing compared to you.”

He’d said too much, but he was past all discretion. His life had been so damned clear, he’d known everything he’d wanted until he met her. She’d changed everything.

She gazed up at him helplessly. “Duncan, I … I’m sorry.”

He didn’t want her damned pity, he wanted her help. “You’re still choosing to side with your family against me. Even if you weren’t responsible for taking the map
and setting me up for treason, what if your father and husband were?”

“They weren’t.”

“Then you should have nothing to fear.” He swept his thumb over the delicate point of her chin, tipping her head back to gaze deep into her eyes. The old connection surged through him. He wanted to believe that she hadn’t betrayed him, but she was making it damned near impossible. “Please, tell me what you know, let me see his correspondence. Help me find the truth.”

Her luminous green eyes swam with turmoil as she struggled with what to do. Her indecision chaffed against his control, already rubbed raw. God’s wounds, he’d practically begged her.

His blood surged and desire fisted low in his gut. He was hot and hard, and her nearness only made it worse. Never had a woman managed to get so completely beneath his skin. She’d always been the devil’s sweet temptation. His entire body ached for her. Longed for her. How could she deny this madness that burned between them?

He knew she felt it from the way her lips parted, her eyes darkened, and her breath hitched. But she was trying to fight it. “Duncan, I—”

He swore, covering her mouth with his to prevent the refusal from passing her lips. He groaned at the contact—at the taste—sinking into her, digging his fingers through her hair to bring her mouth more fully against him.

His body heated, hardened, overtaken by dark, primitive urges of a man intent on claiming the woman who belonged to him. Blood surged through his body as lust gripped him in its inextricable hold.

He wanted to punish her for denying him, for denying this, for bringing him to this barbaric state.

He wanted to sink into the warm, honey recesses of
her mouth and devour her. To force her to admit what was between them.

Not just passion.
The flash of rationality pierced the black haze. It was more than passion. Something far deeper and far more meaningful. And he wanted her to acknowledge it. He forced himself to cool and eased back to coax her lips apart with gentle, deft strokes of his mouth and tongue.

But God, she was sweet. Honey on his tongue. He wanted to sink into her, to delve into the warm sugary recesses, but instead of demanding with the force of passion, he cajoled with infinite tenderness.

His forbearance was rewarded by a soft moan as she opened her mouth and returned his kiss, surrendering. To him. A bolt of pure masculine satisfaction surged through him as strong as after any battle he’d ever won.

He knew she’d felt it, knew he was not alone in the force of emotion that made his chest ache with every tentative sweep of her tongue. His tongue circled hers in a slow delicious dance, delving deeper and deeper. She sagged against him, her body melting into his. He groaned at the contact, at the incredible sensation of all those ripe curves pressed up against him.

The sound startled her out of her trance. With a cry she jerked away, the movement as emphatic as a slap. She stared at him, breathing hard. Her gaze shuttered, but she still bore the stamp of their passion in her swollen lips and flushed cheeks. “I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

He flinched. “Why not?”

She shook her head, tears blurring her luminous green eyes. “I just can’t. Please don’t ask me again.”

This time when she turned to leave, Duncan didn’t stop her. His body felt coiled, ready to strike, and he didn’t trust himself. His hardened heart felt the pinch. Her refusal, in the wake of his own weakness for her
and the passion that still seized his body, was a double betrayal.

He clenched his jaw, biting back the flare of disappointment. He’d thought …

What, that he meant something to her? He was a damned fool thinking he could read emotions in a kiss.

What the hell had he been thinking? Kissing her only made him more crazed. Lust blinded him to his purpose. He was here to clear his name, not to wake the ghosts of the past.

She wanted him, but not enough to overcome whatever it was that held her back from helping him. It wasn’t just loyalty to her husband, but something else. She was hiding something and he intended to find out what it was.

The conversation with Duncan stayed with Jeannie long after she’d left his room. She’d had her questions answered, but it hadn’t made anything easier, only more complicated. The initial anger that had flared between them had been dulled both by the fever and by understanding. What had once seemed so clear was now clouded by a different perspective—his perspective.

He left me.
And she would never forget it, but she was not completely without fault. Map or no map, on some level Duncan felt she’d betrayed him. By not telling him about her father she’d put her loyalty to her clan above her loyalty to him. Honor and integrity permeated every fiber of his being, she’d never thought he would put that aside to help her father. Should she have trusted him? She didn’t know, but he was right—implicitly she’d made a choice.

And she’d done so again, choosing to protect her son rather than help Duncan clear his name. Guilt that she could not completely ignore gnawed at her. She’d wanted to agree to help him. The words had been right there on the edge of her tongue. But she hadn’t given in to the impulse. She couldn’t trust him, not with her son’s future. Once she’d been willing to risk everything for Duncan, but she wouldn’t make the same mistake again—not when Dougall could be the one to suffer.

But it was dangerous without having anger as a shield between them—as that kiss had demonstrated. She’d felt
the undeniable tug, drawing them together. It would have been so easy to fall into his arms again. Terrifyingly easy. It was getting harder and harder for her to resist, but she steeled her heart against him, avoiding being alone with him.

She wasn’t the only one to feel his magnetism. Over the next few days while Duncan recovered his strength with alarming alacrity, she’d done her best to keep Ella away from him—with little success. Every time Jeannie turned around, Ella was sneaking into his room or following him to the stables, the hall, or the barracks on some pretense or another. To his credit, Duncan did nothing to encourage her, but his indifference had the opposite effect than the one intended. Ella never could resist a challenge. And if her formidable grandmother could succumb, it was only a matter of time before Duncan did likewise.

Ella couldn’t hide her fascination with their uninvited guest. Nor for that matter could most of the women under or over the age of sixty. Yesterday, when Duncan joined his men for the first time to practice his sword skills in the yard, the entire female population in the castle seemed to stand still when he removed his shirt. She’d never seen so many women gathering water from the well, which happened to be located near the practice yard, and the keep’s windows had never been so clean.

Ridiculous.
But Jeannie found her gaze straying more than once to the tanned chest gleaming in the sunlight. When he held his sword above his head and his muscles flexed … her body tingled in places she’d long forgotten. His raw masculine appeal was undeniable.

But not for me.

The truth, however, did not quiet the dull ache in her chest.

Beth’s mooning grated more than the others, not because of what Jeannie had seen or because Duncan gave
any indication that he noticed, but because the girl was young and pretty, and as innocent as Jeannie had been once—a long time ago.

But as trying as the past few days had been, Jeannie knew that it would soon be at an end. As his sword practice yesterday proved, Duncan’s recovery had progressed to the point where he would soon be well enough to travel.

She intended to remind him of that fact. Entering the hall, she found him breaking his fast, Ella perched on the table beside him, chattering animatedly, and Beth opposite, elbows on the table, chin cupped in her hands, utterly enthralled. Both girls seemed to be suffering from the same malady—an acute case of hero worship.

He’d done nothing but shoot a few arrows and swing his enormous two-handed great sword around, but even hampered by his injury, there was something special about him. He stood out like a king upon beggars. His physical strength, confidence, and authority could not be masked, despite his best attempts not to draw undo attention to himself. She supposed his handsome face didn’t hurt either. She could only imagine what would happen if it became known that he and the legendary Black Highlander were one and the same.