The Campbell Trilogy (33 page)

His cousin didn’t appear too surprised. “The lass means that much to you?”

Jamie met Argyll’s bold stare with one of his own. “She does.”

“What’s she like?”

Jamie thought for a moment; how could he put in words the complicated woman who was his wife? How could he explain that from almost the first moment he’d realized she was different from any other? “Strong. Loyal. Caring. Spirited.” He felt his chest tighten with a hot swell of emotion. “More beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen.” Passionate.

Argyll must have read his thoughts. “Never thought I’d see the day when you were smitten. Even when you asked me to intercede on Alex MacLeod’s behalf a few years ago, I had the sense that it wasn’t so much for Meg Mackinnon, but for yourself. But this is different, isn’t it?”

Jamie nodded. “It is.”

“And what will you do if you find them?”

He eyed his cousin with full understanding of the significance of his question. It was Argyll’s not so direct way of asking him whether he still had his loyalty.

Jamie realized that he did. He hadn’t forgiven his cousin for using him in his trick with the MacGregor, but though his loyalty had been pushed to the limits, it hadn’t been broken. Despite his cousin’s flaws, in the end Jamie still believed that Argyll was a better choice than the alternatives and the best hope for the future of the Highlands. If Jamie walked away, Argyll would suffer, but Mackenzie or Huntly would be the beneficiary. There was also Jamie’s clan and Caitrina’s to think about. Without Argyll, Jamie wouldn’t be in as good a position to help them. He needed his cousin’s influence as much as Argyll needed his.

Finally, he answered, “Whatever my duty requires.”

“And if he is fighting with the outlaws?”

“I will arrest him.”

Argyll smiled, well pleased.

“After all …” Jamie paused to return his smile. “I’ve heard you have a mind to be lenient where the Lamonts are concerned. Very lenient.”

Argyll’s smile fell, knowing he’d just heard the terms of his recompense for the rash act that had jeopardized everything they’d strived for and maligned Jamie in the process. He scowled and then said dryly, “Oh yes, I’m often regaled for my leniency.”

Jamie grinned and shook his head. “And people say you are without humor.”

Argyll’s mouth quirked. He well knew his grim reputation. “And what if you don’t find anything?”

“If one of my wife’s brothers is alive, I’ll find him.”

They both knew it was only a question of when, not if.

“Just make sure you find him soon, before he does something I cannot undo. My ‘leniency’ is not without limits. Remember, you are charged with clearing Bute of outlaws
and took surety for the Lamonts. Ultimately you will be held responsible for their actions.”

Jamie nodded. The sooner he found any survivors, the better—before one of his wife’s brothers put them all at risk. Argyll, he knew, could be pushed only so far.

A week later, Jamie rode through the gate of Rothesay Castle, exhausted and disappointed. He’d scoured the mountainous area north of Loch Lomond to no avail. If one or more of the Lamont’s sons had survived, they’d ventured too far into the treacherous mountains for Jamie to find them now. With winter bearing down on them, he’d have to wait until spring and then try again. Assuming he wasn’t chasing a ghost. There was always the possibility that the rumors of survival were unfounded.

The entire journey back to the Isle of Bute, he’d debated what to tell Caitrina. Should he wait until he had proof—or tell her what he’d heard, even if it turned out to be only rumor? Did he dare set fire to her hopes with so little? She was still so vulnerable and just coming to terms with their deaths. Would further disappointment send her catapulting back into the dark abyss of loss?

Hell, he still didn’t know what to do—an unusual state for a man who prided himself on his decisiveness. Perhaps when he saw her the answer would come to him. He was also not looking forward to telling her about the MacGregor’s death, assuming the news had not arrived before him. After over a week of separation, the closeness they’d shared before he left seemed tenuous and fragile.

Gazing around the
barmkin,
he half expected to see her. The closer he’d drawn to Rothesay, the more anxious he’d grown. He’d missed her more than he thought possible.

But there was no sign of her. He frowned. He’d hoped
she’d missed him as well, but apparently she wasn’t eagerly awaiting his return.

He dismounted and tossed the reins to a waiting stable lad as his men filed in behind him. “Where is the lady?”

The boy shook, refusing to meet his gaze. “I–I do-don’t know, my laird.”

The lad’s terror rankled; Jamie did not relish inspiring fear in children. His fearsome reputation, it appeared, had not lessened any with his marriage. He bit back his impatience and asked calmly, “Did my man not arrive with news of our arrival?”

“Y-y-yes, my laird. About an hour ago.”

Seeing the boy’s eagerness to leave, Jamie dismissed him and gave orders to his guardsmen to see to their horses before giving them leave to find food and drink. It had been some time since they’d had a regular meal. He intended to do the same after he’d spoken with Will, the guardsman he’d left in charge while he was gone—just as soon as he found his wife.

He entered the keep, and passed through the deserted great hall on the way up the stairs to their chamber. He opened the door and looked around inside, seeing no sign of her. A prickle of alarm coursed through him.

Where the hell was she?

Caitrina raced up the stairs, her lungs near bursting. She drew her hand across her forehead to wipe away the sheen of perspiration and gulped in air, her breathing hard and erratic. After Mor had appeared at the cave with news of Jamie’s imminent arrival, she’d run the entire way back to the castle without stopping. His sudden return had caught her unprepared. He’d been gone for so long, Caitrina had begun to wonder whether he was ever coming back. And just her luck, he’d decided to do so when she was visiting her brothers in the caves.

Brian had shown some signs of improvement, but Caitrina
wanted desperately to get him to Rothesay. Niall, however, was being stubborn. No matter how much she argued, she could not convince him that Jamie would not toss them in the dungeon or, worse, serve them up to Argyll.

Her slippers tapped on the cold gray limestone as she navigated the narrow staircase. Upon reaching the top floor, she crossed the corridor toward their chamber and paused for a moment to catch her breath and mutter a quick prayer that he hadn’t been here long enough to search the keep.

Her step faltered as she walked through the doorway. A rush of emotion swelled over her as she took in the familiar tall, muscular form. Though she might fear his questions, there was no denying how relieved she was to see him safe and in one piece. The danger of his occupation was never far from her mind. Nor was the rampant hatred of the Campbells that made him a constant—and prized—target.

“You’re back!” she exclaimed with relief.

He turned around and checked her with his gaze, taking in every inch of her bedraggled appearance with one glance, including the fresh spots of mud on her hem. Her pulse spiked as she read his suspicion.

Though he looked exhausted and his handsome face was weather-beaten from the cold and rain, he’d never looked more incredible. She’d missed him terribly. Yet something was different.…

The beard. A heavy shadow of stubble framed his hard, square jaw. She wagered he hadn’t shaved since he’d left. Though she wasn’t typically fond of whiskers, on Jamie there was no denying the primitive appeal. It gave him a dangerous edge that matched his ruthless reputation. If she’d met him looking like this all those months ago, she might not have been so trusting that he was a gentleman.

A wave of wistfulness passed over her at the memory of their first meeting. That day seemed like a lifetime ago.

She took a step toward him, but he stopped her with the forbidding clip of his voice. “Where have you been?”

She plastered a wide, welcoming smile on her face. “In the kitchens seeing to the preparations for your arrival.” She felt a pang of guilt at how easily the lie slipped from her tongue. Cursing Niall for putting her in this position, she walked toward him, hating the need to deceive him. “I thought you and your men might be hungry.”

He was not so easily put off. His gaze slid over her face. “Your cheeks are flushed.”

Her smile grew stiff. “The fires in the kitchens were hot.”

“You’re out of breath.”

She laughed carelessly and slid her arms around his neck, knowing she had to do something to stop his questioning. “I just ran up four flights of stairs.” Before he could ask her anything else, she batted her eyes playfully and nestled up against him. “Is this the manner of your greeting, then? Are you going to question me all day, or are you going to give me a proper welcome?”

She lifted her mouth to his, and he did not ignore her none too subtle request. Her heart squeezed at the tender longing in his gaze as his eyes swept over her upturned face, before his mouth fell on hers, hot and hungry. The deprivation of a week demanded fulfillment.

She sighed against him. God, how she’d missed him. The spicy masculine taste filled her senses like a potent aphrodisiac. She opened, taking him deep in her mouth. His tongue circled hers, thrusting deeper and deeper in long, languid strokes that seemed to reach to her toes.

Heat spread through her limbs, as hot and heavy as molten lava. She sank into him. Her breasts crushed against his chest. She was achingly aware of the hard length of his arousal thrusting against her stomach. It had
been too long since she’d taken him in her body and felt him filling her.

Distracting him had become secondary to sating the firestorm that combusted between them the moment his lips touched hers. With each stroke of his tongue, the tremors of desire rippling through her body grew more insistent.

It was madness. All he had to do was kiss her and she craved completion. How familiar he’d become … how vital.

The stubble shadowing his jaw scraped the sensitive skin around her mouth as his hands moved down her back, sliding over her hips to cup her bottom and bring her more fully against him. The subtle friction made her tingle with impatience as heat spread through every nerve ending, and she dampened with anticipation.

She felt deliciously soft and warm, her body dissolving against the hard steel of his muscular chest and legs. She would never grow used to the strength and power of his body. Her hands slid over the hard bulge of his muscled arms, savoring the raw masculinity that made her deeply conscious of her own femininity. At one time, his strength might have felt threatening, but now it gave her a feeling of safety and contentment that she’d never dreamed possible.

But it was more than that. It was the feeling that she had to touch him, that if she didn’t, she would go mad. She ached to splay her hands on his hot skin and feel the flex of his muscles under her fingertips. She’d never thought that simply the sight and sensation of a man’s body could rouse such wicked urges inside her, but his appeal was visceral—claiming every part of her.

Reluctantly, he pulled back, breaking the kiss. His breathing came as hard and uneven as hers. He swept his finger down the curve of her cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you.” She put her hand on his jaw and teased, “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

He looked embarrassed. “I’ll shave when I have a chance to bathe later.”

She shook her head. “Leave it for a while. It suits you.” She liked this dangerous side of him. He looked nothing like the polished courtier, but every inch a powerful Highland warrior. And there was no denying the dark, sensual appeal in that.

As if he could read her thoughts, his gaze darkened with heat. “A proper welcome will have to wait. I’ve some matters to attend to, and then I must see to my men.” His gaze grew intent. “But I was anxious to see you, and when you were not in the courtyard I grew alarmed.”

Caitrina cursed inwardly. She should have known that he would not be so easily distracted. “I’m sorry. As I explained, I was in the kitchens and did not hear your arrival.”

He challenged her with his unflinching gaze. “So you said.”

Not liking being on the defensive, she had an idea of how to turn the tables. After all, despite their passionate embrace, she still had not forgiven him for the manner of his leaving—or for his “instructions.”

“Where else would I be?” She smiled sweetly—too sweetly. “Did you not order me confined to the castle?”

He didn’t even try to appear apologetic but simply shrugged. “A necessary precaution for your safety.”

Caitrina bit back her rising anger. “And did you not think to ask my opinion on the matter?”

“Why would I do that?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “You are my responsibility.”

Her cheeks burned, and it wasn’t from running. God save her from the obtuseness of men. It seemed not to occur to him that she might resent his high-handedness. “I am your wife.”