The Campbell Trilogy (120 page)

There was probably no reason to worry. With the storm it would be unlikely that anyone would be about, but he wouldn’t be able to relax until Jeannie was safe and back where she belonged. With him.

Jeannie gazed around at the circle of irregularly sized boulders in the small clearing of oakwoods, feeling her heart sink with disappointment. A thin layer of fluffy, pristine snow blanketed the ground and rocks. It seemed so still. So perfectly quiet … except for the sound of their voices echoing through the trees.

“Ella …” She waited, ears honed on silence.

She’d been so convinced that Ella would be here. Now she was beginning to feel foolish.

A sharp wind blew across the clearing. Jeannie shivered and sank into the deep folds of her hooded cloak. The snow had slowed, but with the daylight fading it was getting cold—very cold. Even with wool-lined leather gloves, her hands could barely clench the reins. She’d stopped feeling her face about an hour ago.

Her heart squeezed. Ella was so small, the icy weather would be even worse for her.

William, one of the guardsmen who’d accompanied her, halted his horse beside hers. “There’s no sign of the lass, my lady.” He waited for her to say something, but she was too overcome by disappointment. “We have to turn around; we’re too close to Farquharson lands.” Both men had grown increasingly wary as they neared Dinnet.

The warning was well met. The “fighting” Farquharsons had earned their moniker. The clan was part of the Chattan confederation of clans that included—among others—the Mackintoshes. Neither of whom were friends of the Gordons.

They were treading on dangerous ground and she knew it.

Jeannie nodded, taking one last look around, seeing not the beauty of the snow-laden trees and hills, but danger and the myriad of places in which a little girl could get lost.

William gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m sure they found her by now, my lady. The wee lass is probably warming up before the fire as we speak.”

“You think so?” Her voice cracked, sore and ill-used from shouting in the cold.

William’s smile deepened. “I’m sure of it.”

Jeannie appreciated his confidence even though she knew he could well be wrong. But at least Duncan and the other men would have returned by now. Duncan would know what to do. If anyone could find her daughter he could. Never had she needed his solid, steady strength as she did now.

Following William’s lead, she turned her horse around and threaded back through the trees. They rode for about a mile before Jeannie realized that something was wrong.

They were going too fast. Instead of the steady trot they’d started out with, William had gradually increased the pace until they were almost galloping through the dense trees. Such speed was dangerous in the best of conditions, but with the blanket of slippery, concealing snow on the ground, was foolhardy.

She caught William exchanging a worried glance with the other guardsman behind her and reined in her mount to a sudden halt. The men followed suit. “What is it?” she asked.

“I think we’re being followed.” William motioned to the other man. “Take the lady and head out of the trees for the river, I’ll hold them off for as long as I can.”

They couldn’t leave him. Jeannie tried to argue. “But—”

“Go,” William cut her off, slapping her horse on the rear.

The mare jumped forward and shot off like an arrow through the trees. The remaining guardsman followed her, putting himself between her and their pursuers—brigands were always a fear in the countryside. They were moving at a dangerous breakneck pace, narrowly avoiding overhanging branches and brushes that lined the narrow pathway. She prayed the snow was not hiding any treacherous holes or dips.

No more than a minute later she heard shouting that sent a chill shooting down her spine. They were so close. How many were there? The number of voices was lost in the wind.

She prayed for William’s safety as she catapulted through the trees, fighting for her own. Surely they must be nearing the edge of the forest by now?

Her heart was beating like a frightened hare’s. Her fear wasn’t just from the men chasing them, but from the terrifying speed at which she was—

A scream tore from her throat as the mare pitched forward, having landed on a piece of uneven terrain. Jerked from the saddle, Jeannie flew over the horse’s neck. The hard slam of the ground was the last thing she remembered.

Duncan would never forget the sound of her scream. In that moment, he realized just how much of a fool he’d been. Indifferent? Hardly. The white-hot terror cutting through him was anything but indifferent.

He didn’t know whether there was anything left to salvage between them, but he swore if Jeannie came out of this unharmed he would find out.

Closing in on them, he motioned to his men to fan out and surround them. With his men in position, Duncan ordered them to wait for his command and dismounted.
Pulling an arrow over his shoulder from the quiver at his back, he threaded it through the bowstring and trod softly through the snow and trees. With Jeannie likely captured, stealth was their best option.

She hadn’t screamed again. He didn’t know whether to be thankful or panicked.

He listened for her voice, praying for the sweet sound, but only heard the low voices of men.

He steeled himself for what he might see and peered around the tree. Perhaps a dozen warriors were gathered in a circle standing in a patch of snow-covered heather and bracken.

He stared harder, looking through the tangle of steel and leather clad limbs …

Oh, God.
His heart sank and for a moment he couldn’t breath as anguish laced around his chest. He could just make out the spill of bright blue velvet on the snow and the heel of one tiny slipper.

It was Jeannie they were gathered around. And she wasn’t moving. Rage, fear, and helplessness combusted inside him, the flames licking like a whip.

“Get away from her,” he commanded, moving out from behind the tree. Not far away from her he saw the body of one of the guardsmen who’d accompanied her lying face first in the snow, an arrow protruding from his back.

The men startled at the sound of his voice. The metallic buzz of swords pulled from their scabbards reverberated through the air as they spun around, weapons brandished. Bloodlust surged through him. If they’d hurt her, a thousand swords wouldn’t be enough.

“Move away,” Duncan ordered. “Now.”

One man stepped forward. Tall, broad shouldered, and wearing higher quality mail than the others, with two pistols tucked into his belt, Duncan took him for their leader. His long black hair and thick beard couldn’t
hide the fact that he was young—no older than five and twenty.

“Who are you,” he sneered. “One man to order us? We found her first. She’s ours.”

Duncan’s nostrils flared as he fought for control. “If she is harmed I’m the last face you’ll ever see.”

The stone-cold promise in his voice gave the warrior a moment’s pause, but he recovered quickly. “Bold words when you are outnumbered a dozen to one.”

“One is enough,” Duncan said meaningfully, aiming the arrow straight between his eyes. Their gazes met in silent battle. “I assure you,” he added. “I won’t miss.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. Duncan had encountered dozens of his type over the years. Young men eager to the point of recklessness to prove their mettle, young men who’s every decision was based on pride. They didn’t like to back down—ever. And this one with his bold arrogant swagger reeked of trouble.

He was taking too long and Duncan was of no mind to wait for him to see the light. Jeannie still hadn’t moved.

His mouth fell in a cold, flat line as he drew back his hand. He did not make empty threats.

“Wait.” An older ruddy-faced man stepped between them. “He means it, captain. Do as he says.” He motioned to the trees. “He’s not alone.”

The young leader opened his mouth to argue, but a movement in the trees stopped him. He shot Duncan a venomous look, but did as the older man cautioned and stepped away from Jeannie. There was something in the way he looked at her—possessive almost—that set Duncan’s teeth on edge. He thought about letting the arrow fly anyway.

But the circle of men opened, allowing Duncan to get his first full view of her.

His knees almost buckled. Jeannie lay twisted on her
side, knees bent and hand near her mouth as if sleeping. His heart lurched as he stepped forward, gesturing with his hand for his men to come out and cover him.

He felt the older man’s gaze on him as he approached, but Duncan only had eyes for the woman lying on the ground.

“We did nothing to the lass,” the older man offered. “She was thrown from her horse.”

Duncan bet he knew why. “You were chasing her.”

The older man shrugged. “They ran. We did not know it was the lady.”

Duncan knelt in the snow beside her and gently slid his hand under her neck to cradle her head in his palm. Her hair had come loose and was fanned out behind her head in a red halo. His heart clenched. Her angelic face looked as pale as the snow that surrounded her.

He pressed his fingers under her jaw and stilled, waiting, his heart on a precipice.

Relief crashed over him in a heavy wave, feeling the unmistakable pulse of life beneath his hand. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he didn’t want to move her in case something was broken.

“Jeannie.” He nudged her gently and repeated her name.

Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked a couple of times as if trying to clear the haze from her view and stared up at him. “What happened?”

He smiled. “You fell from your horse.”

Her eyes went wide. “There were men …”

“Shhh,” he soothed, sensing her rising panic. “There is nothing to fear.”

She shot upright, her eyes flashing wildly. “Ella!”

“Safe,” Duncan assured her, wrapping her in his arms and smoothing back her hair with his hand. “She’s at the castle.”

“Thank God.” She sighed. Her entire body sagged against him, her relief visceral.

Heedless of their audience, Duncan pulled back and tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. Unable to stop himself, he dropped a soft kiss on her mouth, needing the connection.

His chest tightened at the soft, warm silkiness of her lips. He wanted to sink into her sweetness, to kiss her until the roaring in his head quieted and the tightness in his chest loosened. But he felt too raw to weather the rejection right now. He lifted his head before she could react.

Gazing into her eyes, he read her surprise and waited for the rebuff, for the curtain to drop. But it didn’t.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Anytime.”

“Not for that, you wretch.” She punched him, relief spilling into a moment of lightheartedness. “For finding Ella.”

He nodded, and quickly explained what had happened. Then he asked, “How are you feeling? Do you think you can stand up?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

He helped her get to her feet. She wobbled once, but steadied under his firm grasp.

She was lucky. Instead of hard ground, she’d landed on bracken and heather, which wasn’t to say she wouldn’t be aching later. But at least there didn’t appear to be any broken bones.

No sooner had she stood than she retreated against him, tucking herself into his side. An instinctive movement of protection. A movement that pleased him more than it should. He slid his arm around her and snuggled her even closer. It felt good. Too good.

What was between them had not died—not completely anyway. He felt a spark of something suspiciously
like hope flare inside him. Maybe they could have another chance … He stopped himself. Who was he fooling? He was an outlaw. A dead man if his cousin’s soldiers caught up with him before he found something to prove his innocence.

While Duncan had been attending Jeannie, his men had corralled her pursuers to one end of the path.

She gasped. He swore under his breath, realizing she’d seen the body of the dead guardsman.

Duncan’s mouth fell in a grim line as he addressed the men who’d pursued Jeannie. “Who is responsible for this?”

No one answered right away. He stared at a dozen blank faces before the old man stepped forward. “We were only defending ourselves. Ours was not the first arrow shot. The lady’s guardsman attacked us a short while back.”

That explained the missing second guardsman—Duncan knew she’d left the castle with two men. He would have one of his men ride back to find him.

Duncan met the old man’s stare, looking him full in the face, intending to demand restitution for the men’s families. Instead he felt the jolt of recognition.

Hell.

He saw the shock returned on the other man’s face and realized he was not alone. The older man was one of the Mackintosh warriors Duncan had rescued from certain death during the battle of Glenlivet—Malcolm was his name.

“You’ve come back,” Malcolm said, his voice filled with awe.

“You know this man, Malcolm?” the captain asked.

Jeannie’s head lifted from its place buried in his chest at the sound of the younger man’s voice. Duncan felt her body go rigid. “It’s him,” she said, her fingers gripping
the leather of Duncan’s cotun. “It’s the man who tried to abduct me.”

Duncan went cold. Ice cold. The urge to grab the man by the throat and squeeze until his eyes bulged raged inside him.

Sensing his thoughts, Jeannie put a restraining hand on his chest. “No. It’s over. I just want to get home and see my daughter.”

The young captain seemed to sense how close he was to death and took a few steps back.

Duncan’s fists clenched at his side, the muscles flexing up his arms and across his shoulders. A man who dared to hurt a woman—and not just any woman, but his woman—did not deserve mercy. In two strides he’d reached the man and drew him up by the neck. He tried to break free, but Duncan’s arms were as rigid as steel. The Mackintoshes reached for their weapons, but Duncan’s men lunged forward—the point of their claymores a sufficient deterrent.

“Give me one reason I should not kill you,” Duncan seethed.

“She’s mistaken,” the coward gasped. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”