The Campbell Trilogy (36 page)

“If they’ve done as you say, which I hope they did not, I couldn’t fathom.”

He studied her face. She looked like an angel with her creamy skin, wide blue eyes, and red lips. Her innocent beauty seemed to taunt him. He took her arm, his fingers gripping her tight. “You don’t know?”

“Of course not.” She tried to pull her arm free, but he held firm. “Seamus and the others did not confide in me.”

Her voice sounded so adamant, he had to believe it was true. Relieved, he dropped her arm. “I’m glad. I would not like to think that you were keeping secrets from me.” He gave her a hard look. “Are you keeping something from me, Caitrina?”

Her eyes shifted ever so slightly.
Damn.
It was there
again, that look of unease. “What would I be hiding from you?”

It wasn’t an answer.

“Why are you questioning me?” she demanded. “I’ve told you I knew nothing of Seamus’s plans. What is it that you think I know?”

Jamie knew what he had to do. He hated the idea that he might cause her more pain, but she had a right to know. If she did not hear it from him, she might hear it from someone else. He took her hand and led her to a chair. “Sit.”

Seeming to sense his seriousness, she did as he asked. He moved around in front of her so that his back was to the fire. He hated himself for thinking it necessary to see her face. “I’ve something to tell you. Something that might cause you pain, but I think you should know.”

He could see her tense. Her eyes widened a little, and she swallowed. “What is it?”

Used to directness, Jamie was not very good at couching his words. It was probably better if he didn’t try. He cleared his throat. “There are rumors.” Her eyes lifted to his, the sooty thick sweep of her lashes as soft and feathery as a raven’s wing against her pale skin. “Rumors that one or more of your brothers may have survived.”

She froze, her face devoid of emotion. It was the look of someone who’d just experienced a shock—wasn’t it? Or was it the look of someone who was frightened?

Her fingers gripped the carved wooden arms of the chair until they turned white. He swore he could see the tiny hairs on the back of her neck set on edge. Everything about her screamed brittle—as if she were glass that was about to shatter.

She stared at him, looking to him for answers. “Do you believe them? Is there any truth to these rumors?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me exactly what you’ve heard.”

She was too calm. Too rational. He’d expected her to
race out the door and down the stairs to the courtyard, demanding a horse. He’d expected tears. He’d expected wild emotion. He knew how much she’d loved her family. How their death had destroyed her.

She knew.

He repeated what his uncle had told him and told her of his journey to Lomond to look for them and of finding nothing.

Instead of questioning him further, she gazed at him, eyes narrowed accusingly. “You’ve known about this for over a week and have not thought to mention it before now?”

“I did not want to raise your hopes without something more.”

“You think of me as a child.”

“No, as someone I wish to protect from further hurt. Can you blame me for not wanting you to experience more pain? You’ve only just begun to recover.”

“Not recover,” she said stonily. “Adjust.”

“I know it has been difficult for you, but you cannot deny that you were happier the past few weeks.”

“No,” she said, turning away. “I’ll not deny that.”

“Then perhaps you can understand my reluctance.”

But it was clear she didn’t. “And you only decided to say something now because of Seamus’s disappearance.”

He nodded.

“I see.” She stood and moved to the fireplace, standing stiffly, staring into the smoldering embers of burning peat. Was she simply angry or trying to avoid his gaze?

He hated the suspicion coursing through him, but every bone in his body told him that she knew more than she was telling him.

She tensed as he moved closer to her. He cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. The baby soft skin was like plush velvet sliding under his fingertips. “Did you
know, Caitrina?” he said softly. “Have you had word from any of your brothers?”

The pulse at her neck fluttered like the wings of a trapped bird. He could slide his thumb over it and stop it with one soft press. His fingers tightened.

Her breath caught in her throat—hesitating. Her chin quivered under his fingertips. “No,” she finally said. “I knew nothing of these rumors.”

Her denial fell like a cold slap across his cheek. The blue pools of her eyes were like a stormy sea, tossing with emotion and turmoil. If she was lying to him, and every instinct told him that she was, it was not done without guilt—small consolation for the betrayal. He’d thought she loved him.
Fool.

Her eyes pleaded with him for understanding, even as the lie slipped from her lips. The plump red lips with their sensual curve that brought him such pleasure. Her hair was drying in the warmth of the room, and tiny soft curls had sprung up around her temples, grazing the pink curve of her cheek.

God, she was beautiful. And he wanted with a gut-wrenching intensity for her to be his. But for the first time, he wasn’t even tempted to take her into his arms and offer her comfort. She’d chosen to put her loyalty with her family and not with him. Perhaps he should have expected it. But what he hadn’t expected was the hollow burning pain in his chest. If it didn’t hurt so much, he might even be able to understand her divided loyalties. But it did. He couldn’t do this anymore.

He dropped his hand. Perhaps he’d been hoping for something that was impossible.

He clenched his jaw, hardening himself against the truth, and turned to leave.

“Wait. Where are you going?”

He gave her a long, measured look. “To find your clansmen.”

“What will happen to them?”

He heard the fear in her voice but was of no mind to offer assurances he wasn’t sure he could keep. “I don’t know.” Her brother’s future was just as uncertain as theirs.

Jamie had been gone for two days, and there was still no word from Niall. Caitrina had barely slept since he’d left. She kept playing over and over in her head the scene in their bedroom and knew that she’d made a mistake. She’d wanted desperately to confide in him, but her promise to her brother had smothered her instincts.

She should have trusted her heart.

The truth had been there for some time, but she’d been too scared to see it: She loved him. Loved his strength, his calm authority, his honor, the occasional glimpse of the carefree smile that he showed only to her, the tender way he held her in his arms and made love to her … and those not so tender times when he was wild with passion for her. She loved the way he challenged her to look beyond the surface. The way he accepted her for who she was.

She’d thought her heart was gone, buried with the scrap of plaid in the sand. But it had only been hidden behind a curtain of fear. Fear that loving meant losing. It seemed that she’d been hiding her whole life. First from what was going on around her and then from her own heart. But from the first, he’d never shirked from telling her the truth—no matter how harsh or unpleasant. His steadfastness, understanding, an indelible strength, gave her the courage to open her eyes and helped her to heal the wounds of the past.

She only wished she’d realized it before now. She needed to tell him her feelings. Needed to tell him how much she loved him before he discovered the truth. Had he believed her about not knowing where Niall was, or did he know she’d lied?

Early the morning of the third day, she heard the sound
she’d been waiting for. The call went out. Riders were approaching.

She gazed out the window, unable to see anything in the heavy gray mist. The weather had worsened to match her sense of doom.

Her heart pounded and her hands shook as she tried to wrap her
arisaidh
around her. Giving up, she simply tossed it over her shoulders and raced down the stairs to the hall. The men were entering as she came in.

At the lead was a tall, broad-shouldered man in full battle gear. He walked toward her, but she knew who it was and rushed toward him. “Jamie, I’m sor—”

The apology caught in her throat as he pulled the steel knapscall off his head.

The blood drained from her face. It wasn’t Jamie.

It was his brother.

Colin Campbell of Auchinbreck, the man responsible for the attack on Ascog and the deaths of her father and brother, was standing in the hall not five feet away from her as boldly as could be.

Revulsion tugged at the back of her throat, but it was quickly smothered by the flames of hatred. She remembered so clearly the last time she’d seen him: in her chamber during the attack, hurting Brian and leaving his man to rape her. He still wore the same cold, ruthless expression on his face that he’d had that hideous day.

Seeing him again made her chest tangle with conflicting emotion: raw hatred mixed with the knowledge that he was brother to the man she loved. Now that she knew who he was, the resemblance to Jamie was even more marked—particularly around the mouth and eyes. His hair was darker, and though not quite as tall as Jamie, he was similar in stature and possessed the same air of kingly authority. But what was confidence in Jamie projected as arrogance in his brother.

Unconsciously, her hands curled at her sides, clutching the woolen fabric of her skirts instead of the dirk her fingers itched for. Never had she so felt the urge to kill someone. Colin Campbell was fortunate that she did not carry a weapon.

Though from all appearances, it looked as if he’d been locked recently in battle. His hands and face were streaked with dirt and blood. There was a dried cut on his forehead
and a larger one on his wrist and right hand. But it was his eyes, wild with rage, that sent a shiver of fear whistling down her spine.

Caution urged her to take a step back, but she forced herself not to cower before him. She found courage in the knowledge that she was his brother’s wife, and Jamie would kill him if he harmed her.

He scanned the hall and then demanded without preamble, “Where’s my brother?”

The flat voice echoed in her consciousness, sending a shudder of horrible memories reverberating through her, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. She remembered with some satisfaction the punch she’d thrown in his face and could see that he remembered it as well.

“As you can see, he’s not here.”

His eyes narrowed at her impudent tone. “When will he return?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where did he go?”

Caitrina felt some of her old spirit rising inside her. How dare he burst into her home and question her as if she were one of his lackeys. Her temper flared. “My husband did not confide in me the details of his travel plans.”

His cold gaze leveled on her. “Watch your tongue, lass. Unlike my brother, I do not tolerate disrespect from women. Even from family.”

“You are not my family,” she snapped, though she realized it was the awful truth. His smile only further infuriated her. Discretion escaped her. “I am the lady of this keep, and I’ll thank you to remember it. Consider yourself fortunate that I don’t have you tossed out of here after what you did.”

If he felt any guilt, he did not show it, but he did moderate his tone. “Your father was harboring outlaws, he knew well the consequences of his actions.” He paused, looking
her over with a considered stare. “But I didn’t realize what you were to my brother.”

The concession surprised her. “Would it have made a difference?”

He shrugged indifferently. “I don’t know. What’s done is done. I cannot change the past.”

And as much as she wanted to, neither could she. If she and Jamie were to have a future, somehow she would need to find a way to exist with this man. Though she hoped she would not be forced to endure his company for long. “Why are you here? What is it that you want?”

At first she didn’t think he intended to answer her, but after a few moments he explained, “My men and I were attacked last night as we rode to Dunoon. If not for the timely arrival of some of my cousin’s men, we would have been overwhelmed.”

Caitrina couldn’t help the feeling of disappointment that filled her. She would not mourn Colin Campbell’s death. But disappointment swiftly turned to trepidation when she realized the significance of the timing of the attack. “What does that have to do with Jamie?”

“I’ve reason to suspect that he might have knowledge of the men who attacked me.”

Ice trickled through her veins, but she gave no sign of how his words had affected her. “Why would you think that?”

“Because we followed some of the outlaws to Bute.”

It seemed her fears had been realized: Niall had to be responsible. She dared not ask the question she most wanted to know: the toll of dead among the attackers.

“And why should my husband know about this?”

“Bute is his damn responsibility. He was charged with clearing this isle of outlaws, and if he can’t handle it, I’ll damn well do it for him.”