The Campbell Trilogy (21 page)

Mor moved to the chest of Caitrina’s meager belongings, which had been moved down to her uncle’s chamber for the night. After removing a thick woolen wrap from the small pile of clothing, she handed it to Caitrina. “Put this on, my love. You look cold.”

Caitrina slipped her arms through the wide sleeves and belted it tightly around her waist. “Thank you. Indeed, it’s freezing in here.” But they both knew it was not the temperature that was making her shiver.

Plucking the pins from Caitrina’s hair, Mor undid the work of hours in minutes, and her long, heavy locks tumbled loosely down her back. Caitrina’s nerves were so frayed and ragged, she nearly jumped each time Mor’s knuckles accidentally scraped her back as she dragged the comb through her hair. As if she could hold back the inevitable with her ministrations, Mor combed her hair until every strand ran smooth and each curl lay in perfect symmetry.

There was something soothing in the repetitive motion, and Caitrina eventually found herself relaxing and the frantic rise of her pulse calming.

She would have been content to have her hair combed forever, but the moment of peace was suddenly shattered by the loud knock on the door.

She gasped, and Mor stiffened behind her.

The older woman placed the bone comb on the dressing table and slid her hands on Caitrina’s shoulders, giving her a little squeeze of encouragement. “It will be all right. There will be some pain,” she whispered gently, “but it will not last.”

Pain?
Caitrina nodded, not daring to meet Mor’s eyes, frightened by what she might see there—the worry and sympathy would surely make her lose the tight rein she had on her emotions. The fear that she’d managed to keep at bay had suddenly rushed forward full force.

“The lad cares for you,” Mor continued. “He will not hurt you unnecessarily.”

Caitrina swallowed, but a large rock had formed in her throat. “I know,” she choked.
I hope.

Another knock upon the door, this one more insistent.

“I wish your mother were here to explain,” Mor said. “But as she’s not, you are stuck with the faded memory of an old woman. It’s been a long time since I was a bride—or a wife, for that matter. Do you know what will happen?”

Caitrina bit her lip, her cheeks warming. “Yes.” She’d been raised around livestock. And any lingering ignorance had been eliminated years ago when she’d discovered one of the kitchen maids in the stables with one of her father’s guardsmen. The heavy pumping and grunting had left little to the imagination. It had seemed so … noisy.

And then there was the soldier. Bile rose in her throat as she remembered him prying apart her legs and fumbling with his breeches. Icy droplets of fear trickled down her spine before she quickly pushed the images aside.

Dear God, I don’t think I can do this.

With one more squeeze, Mor released her shoulders and strode to the door, opening it to reveal her husband.

She drew in her breath. His sheer physicality seemed even more intimidating than usual. His tall, wide-shouldered form filled the doorway.

Ignoring the servant’s forbidding frown, he gazed right at Caitrina, his eyes sliding down her form. Though her wrap was thick and made of heavy wool, she felt as if he could see right through it. Even though she’d worn far less the first time she’d met him, she was deeply aware of the sudden charge in the air, not to mention their changed circumstances.

She was no longer a stranger, but his wife. She belonged to him. He could do with her as he wished and there was no one to stop him.

Except for Mor.

Her old nurse stepped directly in front of him, toe-to-toe, preventing him from entering the room. With the top of her gray head barely reaching the middle of his chest, she was hardly a threat, but Mor didn’t let such a small matter as size stop her.

“I don’t care who you are or what reputation you have. If you hurt her in any way, you will have me to deal with.” Mor gave a deceptively sweet smile. “Have I ever mentioned that I have a very
extensive
herb garden?”

Caitrina sucked in her breath. Had her dear nursemaid just threatened to poison him?

Jamie eyed the old woman carefully, seeming to take the threat seriously. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither giving an inch. Finally, he nodded. “I will keep that in mind. But your concern is unwarranted. I am not an untried lad; I’ll have care for the lass’s innocence.”

Innocence.
Was she innocent? Would he be angry if she wasn’t? Her heart beat faster.

“See that you do.” Mor moved back to allow him into
the room. She took a few steps toward the door before turning back to Caitrina. “If you need me, all you have to do is call.”

Before Caitrina could respond, Jamie interjected with growing irritation, “Hell’s fire, woman. I just told you she won’t have need of you.”

Despite Jamie’s flash of temper, Mor still looked reluctant to leave. Not wanting the situation between the two to deteriorate further, Caitrina urged her old nurse away with her eyes. “I’ll be fine, Mor,” she assured her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“When I call for you,” Jamie added sharply.

With one last scathing look, Mor closed the door behind her with a definitive slam that seemed to ring out like an alarm bell.

Caitrina was alone with her husband.

The air that had moments ago seemed chilled suddenly felt warm and sultry. The room that had seemed spacious and sparse now seemed small and crowded—with no place to run.

Perhaps sensing her unease, Jamie strode over to the table beside the fire and poured two glasses of claret from the bottle that had been left for them. He offered her one.

She shook her head.

“Take it,” he insisted, pressing it into her hand. “It will ease your nerves.”

“I’m not nervous,” she protested instinctively, but she took the glass anyway. She was annoyed that he’d so easily detected her weakness.

“Then that makes one of us,” he said, gazing into the fire as he tossed back the contents of his glass.

The admission took her aback. He always seemed so controlled and unaffected; the idea that he might not be as impervious as she thought was oddly comforting. She eyed him cautiously. “Truly?”

He shrugged.

“But why?” she persisted. “What have you to be nervous about? Surely you’ve done this before.”

He let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Once or twice,” he said soberly, but she could hear the lingering amusement in his voice.

The idea of his previous experience left her feeling distinctly irritated. A horrible thought sank inside her like a rock: Did he have a leman? If he did, it wouldn’t be for long. Still, it didn’t explain why he would be nervous about this.

She wrinkled her brow. “Then I don’t understand.”

He didn’t appear inclined to explain. Instead, he removed his doublet and laid it over the back of the chair before taking a seat by the fire. She could see the powerfully muscled contours of his chest beneath the fine linen of his shirt, and it sent a shimmer of awareness low in her belly.

Nonetheless, Caitrina breathed a sigh of relief as he appeared to be in no rush to press himself upon her. Obviously, he’d decided to give her time to adjust to his presence. She took a seat opposite him, the gentle warmth from the smoldering fire bringing her a strange sense of peace. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as she’d expected it to be sitting alone with him in her bedchamber. In fact, it felt disturbingly natural.

“Won’t you tell me what you meant?” she asked.

His gaze met hers. “You are innocent, and I have no wish to cause you pain.” His eyes darkened with intensity. “I want to bring you pleasure.”

The sensual undertone in his voice sent a tingle running through her. “And my pleasure matters to you?”

His eyes turned hard. “Is it so difficult to believe that I might have care for your happiness?”

Though she knew she’d unintentionally angered him, she answered truthfully. “Yes, it is, when you’ve forced me into this marriage.”

He tensed visibly; every muscle in his body went taut. “You had a choice.”

“Did I?” she asked softly.

He held her gaze, his expression unreadable. But there was something in his eyes that made her wonder if she’d erred in questioning his motives. An intensity that made her suspect he wanted this marriage—and her—far more than she’d realized.

He didn’t say anything right away but shifted his gaze back to the fire. Finally, after a few minutes, he turned back to her. “Perhaps I was wrong to think that you would ever accept this. I’d hoped that tonight might mark the start of a new beginning. I’ve never forced myself upon a woman, and I’ll not start now.” His voice was harsh and rough. “If you do not want this marriage, then leave.”

Her heart stopped. He was giving her a way out, which was what she’d wanted … wasn’t it? The seconds ticked by. Still, she couldn’t force herself to walk away.

He waited, his eyes never once leaving her face. She stood from the chair, and the raw disappointment in his eyes cut her to the quick.

He thought she was leaving. But Caitrina didn’t know what to do. She should walk to the door and leave him behind her, this man who had brought so much pain. But instead, she found herself walking until she stood right before him, knowing that she was about to make the most important decision of her life.

A decision formed on what she knew of him, not what she’d been told. He might have manipulated her into marrying him, but she’d begun to realize that his intentions had always been honorable. Indeed, there was a streak of honor in Jamie Campbell that defied his reviled name. Was it possible he did care for her and was trying to make amends?

A force had drawn them together, and she no longer had the strength—or will—to resist.

She took a deep breath. “I gave you my word. I’ll not go back on it now.”

He rose from the chair, towering over her. Only a few inches separated them. Heat surrounded her—from the smoldering peat and from the fire that radiated from his powerful body. She wanted to lay her hands on his chest, to feel the rock hard muscles flex beneath her palms. To press her cheek against his warm skin and inhale the dark, spicy scent that enveloped her senses. To find safety in his strength.

He reached out, sliding the back of his finger along the contour of her cheek with a touch so gentle, it made her shudder. “You know what you are saying?”

She nodded. She did. She wanted him, and there was no going back.

As if to test her resolve, he slid his hands to her waist and slowly worked the ties of her woolen wrap—his eyes never once leaving her face.

Locked in the heat of his gaze, she couldn’t breathe.

Caitrina was used to servants undressing her, but Jamie Campbell was no servant, and the intimacy of the act sent a thrill of erotic anticipation shooting through her.

Slowly, he moved his hands to her shoulders and slid under the fabric, pushing back until the wrap slipped to her feet in a heavy pool. His big hands covered her body.

He drew in his breath, his eyes devouring every curve and contour of her shape revealed plainly under the gossamer ivory silk of her nightraile. The raw desire in his gaze threatened to overwhelm her, but she stood firm beneath its withering heat. Never had a man looked at her so, with possession, lust, and something far more dangerous and enticing.

His finger traced the sharp point of her nipple until it strained taut against the thin fabric. Heat flooded between her legs at his touch.

“God, you are beautiful,” he said, his voice rough. He
pinched her lightly between his thumb and forefinger, and something leapt inside her.

She remembered his mouth on her and knew that he remembered it, too. She wanted to close her eyes and succumb to the burgeoning sensations firing through her body.

His thumb moved over her nipple in a soft caress, rubbing the silky fabric over the sensitive peak with wicked friction until she felt herself sway—her legs like jelly.

She thought he was going to kiss her, but he surprised her by lifting her effortlessly in his arms as if she weighed no more than a child and carrying her to the bed. Gently, he lowered her and she sank into the soft feather mattress.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his weight causing the bed to dip, and quickly removed his boots. After pulling the shirt from his breeches, he yanked it over his head in one smooth motion, then tossed it to the chair where he’d laid his doublet.

Caitrina sucked in her breath, mesmerized by the sight before her. He was beautiful. The hard lines of his chest and arms looked as if they’d been chiseled from granite. She could see the outline of every tightly formed muscle beneath his golden skin—its smooth surface marred only by the occasional jagged scar that marked him as a warrior.

His arms were like rocks, his shoulders wide, his chest a steely shield. Thin bands of muscle rippled across his stomach. He stood, loosening the ties of his breeches until they hung low on his hips. She could see the thick length of his manhood straining against the waist, his desire for her undeniable.

He must have noticed her study, but he misunderstood her shocked reaction. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” he promised soothingly.

She shook her head. “You don’t frighten me.”

He chuckled at that and sat back down on the edge of the bed beside her. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that, you’ll ruin my reputation.”

Caitrina couldn’t believe it: He was jesting with her. It was so sweet and unexpected. She returned his smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Her eyes slid over him again, her body softening with awareness. He was so close. She could just reach out and touch him. “It’s just that I couldn’t help but admire … you are beautiful,” she said, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could take them back.

He frowned, obviously not knowing what to make of her pronouncement. “I’m a warrior. Warriors are not beautiful.”

He was wrong. There was undeniable beauty in the strength and power of his body. Slowly, she reached out to touch him, feeling him flinch as she spread her palms over the hard span of his chest. She could see the pulse at his neck begin to tick and knew her touch had pleased him. His skin was warm to the touch and surprisingly smooth over the steely hard muscles. Holding his gaze, she moved her hands to his shoulders, sliding them down over the bulging muscles of his arms, which flexed instinctively under her fingertips.
Magnificent.
“You are to me,” she said softly.