The Campbell Trilogy (28 page)

This was love, and he loved her with every fiber of his being.

She was leaning over him, her face deathly pale. “Oh, my God! What happened?” She looked down at his arm; blood gushed from the open wound, turning his sleeve red. “You’re hurt.” Tears sprang to her eyes and her face seemed to crumple.

She’s crying. For me.
But it was the look in her eyes that penetrated the black haze of pain like nothing else. It was a look he’d never seen before. Raw. Exposed. As if he were seeing into her heart.

His shoulder hurt like hell, but it was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. For there in her eyes, in the delicate fall of a tear, she gave herself away.

It wasn’t just duty that bound them together.

Caitrina paced around the laird’s chamber, doing her best to stay calm and out of Mor’s way, but the wait was torturous.

Blood. There’d been so much blood. The rough-hewn beam that had fallen on them had been at least twelve inches thick. Thick enough to kill.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath but couldn’t calm the frantic beat of her heart. Panic had taken hold and had yet to let go.

Dear God, Jamie could have been killed. Taken from her as quickly as her father and brothers. In that split second when she’d realized what was happening, and what he’d done in saving her, her heart slammed into her chest and stripped away all pretense from her consciousness.

Enemy. Henchman. Campbell. None of that mattered.

She cared for him. Deeply. She didn’t want to try to put her feelings into words—not when they terrified her. Caring for someone made her vulnerable. If she lost him, too … Fear laced itself around her heart and squeezed.

She couldn’t stand it; one more minute of not knowing and she’d go mad.

Twisting her hands in her skirts anxiously, she approached the bed and attempted to peek over Mor’s shoulder. Jamie was on his side, facing away from her, as Mor tended his wound.

“How does it look?”

“The same way it did five minutes ago, though it’s hard
to tell with you blocking my light,” Mor clipped. Caitrina quickly backed away from the flickering candlelight. Though it was just after midday, the small windows provided little illumination. “But it will look much worse if I don’t finish stitching it up.”

“Are you sure he’ll—”

Two voices cut her off this time.

“He’s fine.”

“I’m fine.”

Jamie’s voice was steady and strong, giving her a moment’s relief. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Caitrina ventured, only to be cut off again.

“No!”

“No!”

If she weren’t so upset, she might find Mor’s and Jamie’s uncharacteristic agreement amusing. Instead, she moved back to the other side of the room as Mor finished stitching the wound. A few servants hurried back and forth at her nursemaid’s command, bringing fresh water, cloth, and herbs.

Never had Caitrina felt so useless—or helpless. How could this have happened? It was a horrible accident … or was it? She hadn’t missed Seamus’s pale face. She didn’t want to believe it, but his words not long before seemed damning in light of what had happened.

Finally, after what had seemed like hours, though it was only a few minutes, Mor pushed back from the stool. “You can come see him now, Caiti.”

She rushed back to the bed and at last got a good view of her husband. He’d sat up, leaning his back against the headboard. His naked chest gleamed, and the tight bands of his stomach muscles rippled in the soft light. He still wore his breeches and boots, but his ruined shirt and plaid had been tossed on the chair beside the bed.

Thankfully, Mor had cleaned away the blood, but there was a thick, jagged cut that she’d laced up his shoulder, and
a dark, mottled bruise had already started to form from his collarbone to his elbow. It looked ghastly—and painful.

But he was alive. Her entire body sagged with relief.

She sat beside him on the edge of the bed and tentatively closed her hand over his. “How do you feel?”

One side of his mouth curved up in a roguish half-smile that shot straight to her heart. “I’ve experienced far worse on the battlefield. I don’t think anything is broken.” He glanced at Mor for confirmation.

“Nothing broken, though it will feel like it for a few days,” the old woman said. As if anticipating the kind of patient he would be—disagreeable—she cautioned, “But you’ll have to take care not to open the wound or it will fester. I’ll send up a draught for the pain.”

True to form, Jamie shook his head. “I don’t need it.”

Caitrina looked at Mor, silently telling her that she would give it to him—even if she had to pour it down his throat.

The old nursemaid harrumphed and bustled out the door, muttering about fool lads and their pride, leaving Caitrina alone with her husband.

She bit back a smile and looked at Jamie, who seemed to be doing the same. “I don’t think she cares much for your manly display of fortitude.”

Jamie chuckled. “I think you are right, but that is not why I refused her medicine. I don’t like how it makes me feel. I’d rather bear pain than lapse into a drug-induced stupor.”

Always on guard,
she thought. After what had happened today, she could hardly blame him.

Alone now and safe, she was suddenly hit by the reality of all that had happened. Worry had propped up her composure, and now that she knew he would be all right, she was unable to hold her emotions in check. She needed him. Needed to feel his solid strength against her. Needed to assure herself that he was still here. Needed to blot out the
moment of gut-wrenching fear that she would lose him, too.

Careful not to jog his shoulder, she laid her cheek on his bare chest, savoring the warm smoothness of his skin and taking comfort in the steady beat of his heart. She’d startled him with her touch, but only for a second, and then his body relaxed under her. “I was so scared,” she confessed tremulously. “God, you could have been killed.”

He stroked her hair, the strong hands that could wield a weapon with deadly purpose as gentle and comforting as a mother to a babe. “But I wasn’t. Though it would have been a price I would willingly pay.”

She sat up, eyes wild. “Don’t say that! Don’t ever say that. I can’t go through it again. My father, my brothers …” Tears slid down her cheeks. She’d loved her family so much, and they’d been taken from her. How could she risk that heartbreak again? She knew what he did, the constant danger he faced. It filled her with icy terror. “I can’t lose you, too. Promise me—”

“You won’t,” he soothed, dragging her back down against him.

They were quiet for a moment, with only the sound of her uneven breathing and occasional sniffle as her tears abated to fill the silence. It was a promise they both knew he couldn’t keep. They lived in a world where death was a way of life—especially for a warrior.

“It matters to you,” he said after a minute, “my safety?”

She stilled, not knowing what he wanted from her. “I …” She was scared. Scared that giving voice to her fragile feelings would somehow put him at risk.

Did he care for her? His voice gave no hint to his own thoughts. “Yes,” she said instead. “More than anything.”

It was enough. Her answer appeared to satisfy him, because he hugged her a little tighter. The frantic race of her pulse had calmed, but the accident played over and over in her mind. “It happened so fast.”

“Aye, if I hadn’t heard the sound and looked up …” Never had she heard such emotion in his voice. Jamie Campbell, the most feared man in the Highlands, had been scared—for her. He cleared his throat. “When I find out who was responsible …”

The dark edge in his voice chilled her. “I’m sure it was only an accident.”

He held her gaze, and she knew he shared her suspicions. “I’m sure no one had any intention that
you
would be harmed.”

He’d chosen his words with care, leaving her no doubt that he suspected someone had tried to kill him. She prayed Seamus hadn’t been behind it, but her loyalty to her clansmen could be stretched only so far and it stopped at attempted murder. If Seamus was responsible, he would pay the price.

“I haven’t thanked you,” she realized, looking up at him. “For saving my life.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I told you I’d always take care of you, and I meant it.” He drew her under his uninjured arm, wrapping his arm around her waist and holding her tight against the length of his body. She nuzzled her head under his chin and laid her hand on his chest, the hard muscle solid and reassuring beneath her fingertips. She smoothed her hand over the rigid plane, sculpting the familiar contours of his chest, wanting to hold on to this moment forever. With all that had happened in the past few months, she’d never thought to feel like this again—safe and content.

She didn’t need to say anything. She sensed that he knew what she was thinking because he felt the same. A falling beam of wood had done what neither of them had been able to do, strip away the layers of pretense to reveal the truth. Only when faced with the horrible fear of losing him had she accepted what he’d come to mean to her.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, speaking her thoughts aloud. Yet she had no wish to take them back.

He stilled. “And I you.”

“I never should have said what I did. You’ve never given me cause not to trust you. I do trust you, it’s just …” She searched for the right word but was only able to come up with “complicated.”

But somehow, he seemed to understand. “Aye. I can’t promise there won’t be problems.”

“I know.” But whatever their problems with her clan’s acceptance of him, she was no longer willing to allow it to take her from his bed.

Her hand slid down his stomach, absently tracing the taut bands of muscle. His arousal rose hard against his breeches. For a moment, she wanted to cover him with her hand, feel the steel rod under her fingers. But then she remembered he was hurt.

She jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry.” Her cheeks burned. “I wasn’t thinking.” She sat up and attempted to move off the bed. “I should leave you to rest—”

She gasped when he grabbed her arm and pulled her back down on top of him. “No.” His voice was dark and insistent. He took her chin and lifted her mouth to his, placing a tender kiss on her lips. “Stay. I need you.”

“But your shoulder …”

“I assure you, the pleasure you will give me is the best draught for the pain.” He looked deep into her eyes, his gaze soft and liquid, and smoothed a lock of hair from her brow. “Take my pain away, Caitrina.” She looked at the bandage on his arm, but he turned her chin. “Make me forget,” he whispered, and kissed her again.

She heard his plea deep in her heart. She wanted to forget, too. Forget the accident that had nearly taken him from her forever and the foolish days they’d spent apart. He drew her lips apart, sliding his tongue deep in her mouth with a long, sensual kiss, before releasing her.

Her breath came hard and fast. “You don’t fight fair.”

He grinned. “It’s been too long.”

She shook her head. “It’s been three days.”

“Almost four.”

She laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

He kissed her again and slid his hand down the curve of her spine to rest on her bottom, pressing her against his heavy erection. “No, I’m a desperate man. Have pity on me, lass.”

He looked so in earnest, she had to laugh. “How am I to fight such a heartfelt request?”

He grinned and pulled her into his arms. “You aren’t.”

In truth, it was just what she desperately needed as well. Not until she was in his arms again would she feel perfectly safe.

She feigned severity. “Very well, but there will be conditions.”

He quirked a brow. “I’m listening.”

“You have to stay still.”

A very naughty grin played upon his lips. “I’ll do my best. What else?”

“You’ll tell me if it hurts.”

“If what hurts?” he asked innocently.

She gave him a playful tap on his chest. “Your shoulder, you wretch.”

His attempt to appear contrite was ruined by the boyish twinkle in his blue eyes. “I promise.”

Sometimes she forgot how young he was. His authority and battle-hardened exterior made him appear much older than his seven and twenty years.

God, he is beautiful.
The hard, masculine lines of his face lightened by playfulness. His eyes even crinkled at the corners when he smiled. The effect was utterly devastating.

He took her breath away.

She stood up and moved to the door, sliding down the
metal bar so they would not be disturbed. She could feel his eyes on her every step of the way.

“There are a few problems,” he said.

It was her turn to look at him questioningly. “Such as?”

“Our clothes.” He sat back against the pillow with a wide grin on his handsome face. “I’m afraid my arm hurts too much to be of much help in removing them.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”

He nodded solemnly. “I guess you’ll have to do it on your own.”

“And what will you do?”

“Why, watch, of course.”

“Of course,” she said dryly. With her back to him, she removed her
arisaidh
and folded it carefully on the chair. She looked over her shoulder, catching him staring at her bottom. “I don’t suppose I could bother you to help me untie my laces.”