The Campbell Trilogy (19 page)

Jamie stood, his hand moving to the hilt of his dirk. “If you don’t feel mine first,” he said matter-of-factly. He was
itching for a fight, and from the size and strength of him, John Lamont looked as though he might actually give him a good one.

Jamie started at the gentle restraint of Caitrina’s hand on his arm. “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “Thank you, John, but I’m fine.”

Her cousin shot one more venomous glance at Jamie and shut the door behind him.

Caitrina dropped her hand and turned to face him in the candlelight. God, she was beautiful. Just standing so close to her was an exercise in restraint. His nose filled with the bouquet of her delicate perfume. He ached to plunge his fingers through the silky smooth locks of her hair, to touch the soft, velvety curve of her cheek, and to taste the honey sweetness of her lips. But she didn’t want comfort from him.

Would the day ever come that she would? He’d never pursued a woman, never had to. What if Caitrina never … 
No,
she would.

“So this is your plan,” she said, her voice low and full of emotion. “You are every bit as ruthless as I thought. You’d force me to marry you, not caring how much I hate you.”

His muscles clenched. He knew she didn’t hate him but didn’t like hearing it all the same. “I’ll not force you to anything. It’s your decision.”

She made a sharp sound of derision. “What kind of choice is that when you hold everything that I want in the palm of your hand? Why are you doing this to me? Is it because of what happened before? Is this some kind of revenge? I dared to refuse the great Jamie Campbell, so now you will bend me to your will and humiliate me.”

“Is that what you really think? Is it so hard to believe that I want you?”

“No, that’s not hard to believe at all,” she said flatly. “But that does not require marriage. If that’s all you want from me, then take—”

He grabbed her arm, his reaction instantaneous. “Don’t,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t say it.”

He was doing a horrible job of this. He dropped her arm and raked his hands through his hair. “That is not all that I want from you.” He’d never tried to explain himself to a woman before. He didn’t know how to describe what he was feeling. “I care for you.”

“If you care about me, then don’t do this.”

“It’s because I care about you that I am doing this.” To get Argyll to agree, he’d had to take surety—to assume personal responsibility—for the conduct of the Lamonts. If they broke the law, he would be the one held accountable. “I’m trying to help you. Can’t you see this is the best way to get your home back? And I can protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection.”

“Don’t you?”

She shook her head stubbornly. “No.”

Unable to resist, he reached down and stroked the gentle curve of her cheek with his finger. “Would marrying me really be so horrible?”

He felt her tremble, but she didn’t respond.

He held himself still, asking the question that he feared the most. “Is there someone else you wish to marry?” The very thought sliced like a dirk across his chest.

He felt her eyes on him, studying his face, as if she might have glimpsed a little of his torment. “I …,” she started, then hesitated. “No. There is no one else.”

He took a step closer to her, looking down at the feathery fan of black lashes on her pale cheek. The faintest hint of a few new freckles dotted the top of her tiny upturned nose. He took a deep breath but didn’t touch her. “Give me a chance. I will do my best to make you happy.” It was as close to begging as he would ever come. Without thinking, he reached out and gently tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers sweeping the velvet of her cheek, startling them both with the tender touch.

After a moment he said, “You will consider my offer?”

She nodded.

She was wavering, but there was one more thing she had to know. He didn’t want anything between them. “You should know something before you make your decision.”

She tilted her head questioningly, caught by something in his voice. “What?”

“The man who led the attack against your father”—her eyes locked on his—“he’s my brother.”

“No!” But the cry strangled in her throat. The leader’s face came back to her. There had been something that reminded her of Jamie, and now she knew why. Her mouth soured. Dear God, his brother had killed her father.

Just when she wanted to think something between them might be possible …

“I’d not force you to accept him, but I thought you had a right to know. He didn’t know what you were to me—”

And what am I to you?
But she couldn’t ask that. “And that is supposed to be an excuse?”

Jamie shook his head. “No. But it might have made a difference. I’ll leave you now. Send word to Dunoon when you have made your decision. Should you decide to accept, we can be married right away.”

“But the banns—”

“The banns have already been proclaimed.”

Caitrina felt the noose tightening around her throat. “You were so confident of my response, or was I even allowed to have one?”

“I only wanted to be prepared. I’d assumed you would be anxious to return to your home.”

“It’s gone. There’s nothing left.”

“It can be rebuilt.”

“Not everything,” she said quietly.

He gave her a long look that seemed to touch inside her. “I’m sorry for your loss, lass.”

He was. She could feel his sympathy and understanding, and for a moment she let it wrap around her and give her comfort. He would be a rock to lean on if she wanted him.

He lifted her chin. “You’re right; not everything can be rebuilt,” he admitted. “But we can try to build something new.”

It was an olive branch of sorts. One that she wasn’t ready to accept. “I don’t want something new”—
you
—“I want my family back.” She thought he flinched, but he covered it so quickly, she wondered if she’d only imagined it. “Don’t you understand? I can never replace them.”

“I’m not suggesting you try. But right now, I’m all you have.”

Caitrina watched the door close behind him, numb. He was gone. Tears burned in her throat. The decision was in her hands now.

She didn’t know what to do. She needed to think. After opening the door, she forced herself to walk steadily across the hall and outside, not daring to meet anyone’s eyes. Only when she reached the courtyard did she run.

The sun was sinking over the horizon, and the air was damp with cold. Wind tore her hair from her bindings and tears streamed down her cheeks as she stumbled down the path to the beach. Sinking to her knees in the sand, she put her face in her hands.

Vaguely she was aware of someone calling her, but it sounded so far away. Moments later, she felt Mor’s arms wrap around her. The familiar scent, the pillowy soft chest, made her sob harder—the way she had when she was a child. What had she ever had to cry about then?

“There, there, lass. What is it that has you so upset?”

Caitrina managed to choke out the story in bits and pieces, enough for her old nurse to put it together.

She frowned. “So he claims he was there to put an end to the attack?”

Caitrina nodded.

“And you believe him?”

Oddly enough, she did. “Yes. But I wasn’t there. Tell me what you remember.”

It was the first time she’d asked Mor about that day.

Mor thought for a moment. “It was so chaotic when we were dragged from the keep, I had to fight to hold on to Una. Smoke was everywhere—and the bodies. Everywhere I looked there were bodies. I was so scared I’d see you and the lad.” She shivered. “I was so relieved to see the Campbell Henchman carry you out of that keep—” She stopped, her voice tight with emotion. “He’d saved you, but I didn’t know for what reason. I thought it was odd, though, the way he cradled you in his arms like you were a bairn, and kissed your forehead before putting you down.” Her brow wrinkled. “He had the strangest look on his face, and then he said, ‘Watch her for me, I’ll be right back. I must see what I can do. There are still people inside.’ ” Mor paused. “I thought he was talking about his men, but maybe …” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but I did see him arguing with the other man.” Mor’s face hardened. “The man who shot your father.”

“His brother,” Caitrina said tonelessly.

Mor sucked in her breath. “Oh, lass.”

“I can’t marry him.”

Mor stroked her hair. “Of course you can’t … if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to marry him. I despise him—he’s a Campbell. How could you think …” Caitrina’s voice fell off as she caught the older woman’s knowing gaze leveled on her.

“Caitrina Lamont, I’ve known you since the day you were born. I’ve seen the way you look at the man … and the way he looks at you.”

Caitrina felt the telltale heat of a blush rising on her
cheeks. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and then lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you think you have seen, but you’re wrong.”

“Am I?” Mor shook her head. “Ah, Caiti, we can no more control who we are a-wanting than we can order the rain to flow or the wind to ebb. There is no shame in what you feel for the man.”

Caitrina felt something twist in her chest. Mor was wrong—her attraction to Jamie Campbell was a betrayal of her father and brothers. Nor did it change who he was. “How can you say that? You know who he is and what he did?”

Mor nodded, seeming to understand Caitrina’s conflicting emotions. “The Campbells are a vicious, land-grabbing lot, and I’d see the men who attacked your father hung, drawn, and quartered and not lose a wink of sleep. But I don’t think Jamie Campbell had anything to do with that. He’s Argyll’s man—a point against him, to be sure—but he cares for you. And that may work to your advantage. There is no denying what the man is offering you. The Campbells are a powerful clan, and perhaps the best way to protect the Lamonts is an alliance with the Campbells through marriage. Moreover, without this marriage you may not have another opportunity to reclaim Ascog.”

As much as Caitrina hated to hear it put so bluntly, Mor was only giving voice to Caitrina’s own thoughts. He had backed her into a corner, leaving her nowhere to run. If she refused him, she refused her duty to her clan.

Just as before. Her father had urged her to consider Jamie Campbell’s offer, but she’d been too selfish—not wanting to leave the sheltering bosom of her family.

Would things have been different if she’d accepted his proposal? The question hurt too much even to contemplate.

She’d failed in her duty to her clan once before; she could not do so again. If there was a way to protect what remained
of her kin and to reclaim Ascog without bloodshed, she had to take it.

Jamie Campbell knew that as well as she did.

Sensing Caitrina’s anguished thoughts, Mor folded her gently in her loving arms. Caitrina closed her eyes, taking comfort there and feeling her resolve strengthen as the wind blew over her, the tangy scent of the sea following close behind.

Slowly, Caitrina pulled away, her gaze once again turning to the churning mass of dark blue waves and the shadow of the Isle of Bute slowly fading in the orange glow of the darkening sky.

“What will you do?” Mor asked.

“What I must. What else can I do?” Caitrina replied, her voice as hard as the glistening jagged rocks that lined the seashore like polished ebony.

She would do her duty, but one day Jamie Campbell would regret forcing her like this. She would give him her body, but she would never belong to him.

All that was left of her heart was buried deep in the sand with her father’s tattered scrap of plaid.

They were married on Sunday four days later—two days after Alasdair MacGregor and his men, accompanied by Jamie and her uncle, surrendered to the Earl of Argyll at Dunoon.

As a condition of her acceptance, Caitrina was spared the presence of the earl and Jamie’s brother at their wedding. The Campbell contingent consisted only of the score of guardsmen who accompanied him. The ceremony was held in the small chapel of Toward Castle located opposite the keep beside the new hall. The pews were filled by all that remained of her family—her aunt, uncle, cousins, Mor, and, even though it was unusual for them to be present for such an event, the handful of clansmen who’d accompanied them from Ascog.

Ignoring the protestations of her aunt, Caitrina refused the elaborate velvets and brocades and chose instead a simple dark blue woolen kirtle and a plain sark. The simple clothing seemed more in keeping with the somber occasion.

There was no joy in this marriage—only duty.

Caitrina steeled herself against the unwelcome twinges of awareness that preceded the event, reminding herself that this was a marriage of necessity only.

Still, when she entered the dark stone chapel and gazed down the narrow aisle to the sight of Jamie standing beside the minister, she felt a hard flutter in her chest.

It’s only nerves.
It was her wedding day, after all, no matter how unwanted.

But that did not explain the way her heart seemed to stop beating when their eyes met. She felt the intensity of his gaze all the way to her toes. It was as if he’d reached out across the room to claim her with his arms, so thoroughly did he possess her with that one long, penetrating look. For one instant it felt
right
—as if this were meant to be. Until she remembered how he’d compelled her to this.