The Campbell Trilogy (42 page)

But in her heart she knew he would. He’d warned her not to try to come between him and his duty again, but she’d done just that.

His eyes locked on hers, not letting go, but she didn’t take it back. Finally, he bowed his head. “As you wish.” And without another word, he pulled his destrier around and galloped out the gate. Never once looking back.

Maybe that hurt the most. That after what they’d shared, he could just cut her off without a moment’s hesitation or remorse when her world had just been destroyed.

He wouldn’t be coming back. To save her brothers, she’d gambled with her heart and lost.

There was nothing she could do. It was too late. Niall was gone. As was the only man she would ever love.

Desolation cut through her like a dull knife, the anguish unbearable. Her heart felt as though it were being ripped in two. She wanted to pour out her grief in a torrent of cries, but she was beyond the relief of tears. Dry-eyed, she watched him ride away, watched as his proud, strong back faded into the distance.

Gone.

A dry sob caught in her throat. Not again. She could not bear it. Never had she thought to feel this kind of pain again. Never had she thought to feel so alone.

Love had failed her.

She sank to her knees in the mud and dirt and bowed her head. Then an uncomfortable twinge penetrated her grief. Or had she failed love?

Jamie forced his gaze straight ahead as he rode away from Rothesay, knowing it would be some time before he returned.

It had taken every ounce of his strength to ride away, and he didn’t know when he dared attempt to see his wife again. Being near her would be impossible; the pull was too strong. It would be easier to sever all connection.

As if cutting out his heart were easy. There was a hollow emptiness in his chest that ached more than any wound he’d ever suffered in battle.

He squared his jaw, hardening himself against the raw surge of pain and loss.

It seemed ironic, indeed, that a man who was virtually invincible on the battlefield had been felled by something as ordinary as emotion. He should have avoided the entanglement altogether, just as he’d done with his friendships. A man in his position was better off alone. He’d taken a
chance with Caitrina, hoping it would be different, but it had been a mistake.

Disappointment ate like acid in his stomach. He’d wanted so much to believe that they could come to an understanding, but he’d mistaken sex for trust and love. It might not have been done consciously as he’d first thought—the shock on her face had seemed real enough—but clearly she’d not made love to him as a show of trust, as he’d assumed.

Apparently, she’d made some assumptions as well. It had taken her ultimatum for him to finally realize that no matter how hard he tried, he would never convince her to believe in him fully. He’d hoped that once she grew to know him …

No.
Her family and his being a Campbell would always be between them. She would never see past the name and reputation to the man. He was better off alone. He should have stayed that way.

Love, it seemed, was not enough.

For a man who didn’t allow for defeat, failure was difficult to stomach—especially with something he’d fought so hard for.

“My sister can be quite stubborn.”

Jamie turned to Niall Lamont, who sat in the
birlinn
beside him, watching him, and from his contemplative expression, he’d probably seen more than Jamie wanted him to. He plunged the oar into the water and pulled. “Aye.”

As Niall’s hands were tied and he was unable to row, he’d made himself comfortable, kicking out his feet and leaning back against the edge of the wooden seat behind him. The relaxed pose was hardly that of a prisoner. “She’s scared. I’m sure she didn’t mean everything she said.”

“I’m sure she meant every word.” He leveled his gaze on the other man. “She thinks I’ve betrayed her by taking you to Dunoon to account for your crimes.”

Niall lifted a brow. “Can you blame her? Your cousin is
not exactly known for his compassion to outlaws. And neither are you, for that matter.”

Jamie couldn’t deny it. But the very fact that he would ask his cousin to intercede on Niall’s behalf should tell her how much she meant to him. He wanted to think she knew him better. That even if he wasn’t known for his compassion, he was capable of it. Argyll would be facing pressure from Colin, but Jamie was confident that in the end Niall Lamont and his men would be spared the executioner’s noose. His cousin wouldn’t like it, but he would keep his word. “It’s not my cousin I asked her to trust.”

“It’s not?”

Jamie pondered the rhetorical question for a moment. “You seemed to believe my avowal of leniency.”

Niall shrugged. “What choice did I have? Were it my brother’s or sister’s life at stake, I can assure you I wouldn’t feel the same way.”

Reluctantly, Jamie admitted that maybe he had a point. Caitrina didn’t know Argyll as he did—and what she did know he could understand might not instill confidence in his temperance.

But something about what Niall said had bothered him. Jamie studied the other man’s face. His voice held the edge of a man who didn’t care whether he lived or died. Of a man who’d lost faith with the world. Jamie remembered what Niall had told him about the ravaging of his lass.

He couldn’t imagine what Niall Lamont must be feeling. If someone had harmed Caitrina like that … His entire body flooded with white hot fury.

He glanced at Niall’s stoic face, knowing the rage that simmered under the surface. Rage that could drive a man to lawlessness. For the first time, Jamie realized what could make a man seek his own justice—outside the law. And it was Jamie’s own brother who’d driven him to it. Twice.

He hated to think that Colin could be capable of such brutality against a woman, but he knew Colin wouldn’t
think of it as such. He’d think of it as the spoils of war, of a way to shame his enemy. Many men would agree with him.

Jamie clenched his mouth in disgust.
He didn’t.
“I can understand your anger, but why the MacGregors? Why ally with them? Surely you know they are doomed. The king will not forgive them for the massacre at Glenfruin.”

“The woman I mentioned …”

Jamie nodded solemnly for him to continue.

“Her name is Annie MacGregor.”

Jamie swore.

“I’m aware that some MacGregors have been at times”—Niall cleared his throat—“less than lawful. But what choice have they had, driven from their land with nowhere to go? I, too, have felt the brunt of a Campbell sword.”

Jamie’s jaw hardened. The issue of land had been at the heart of the off-and-on feud between the Campbells and the MacGregors for hundreds of years—since King Robert the Bruce had granted the barony of Lochawe, including much of the MacGregor lands, to the Campbells. “The MacGregors are still clinging to a claim of land that goes back almost three hundred years. At some point they have to accept that they are not going to get it back. I sympathize with their plight, but feuding, reiving, and pillaging are not the answer.”

“What choice have they had? You can’t poke a snake and expect it not to bite.”

Niall had a point, not that it would do the MacGregors much good. Even the law would not help them now. “It will not change their fate. They will still pay for what happened at Glenfruin.”

“Just as my men and I will pay for attacking your brother.”

“I will see that you have justice.” Given Colin’s part in the lass’s suffering, maybe it was fitting that justice come from Jamie.

Justice.
What was it in this instance? He’d always equated justice with the law, but this time the answer was not so clear-cut. Niall Lamont had not had an easy time of it—the choices he’d made under the circumstances seemed understandable. Caitrina’s accusation came back to him. Had he unknowingly been driven by Duncan’s betrayal and become rigid in his view of right and wrong because of it?

He’d never questioned Duncan’s guilt, but he wondered now whether he should have. Had he judged his eldest brother too harshly? It was a sobering thought. One with implications that resonated far deeper than Jamie wanted to contemplate.

Niall was watching him. “You know, I almost believe you.” Jamie rowed for a while longer before Niall broke the silence. “Give her time.”

Jamie’s gaze was shrewd and appraising, wondering at Niall’s motives. “Why do you care? I would think you would be happy to have your sister rid of me.”

“You’re right. You are about the last man I’d wish to see my sister married to. But I’m not blind. I see how she feels about you, and I want her to be happy.”

Jamie nodded.
So do I.
He just didn’t know if he was the one to make her so. Because no matter what her brother said, it was Caitrina who needed to believe in him.

It took Caitrina less than an hour to make up her mind. She would not sit back and allow her brother to be taken from her—not again. Not while it was in her power to do something. If Jamie wouldn’t listen to her, there was only one person left to whom she could appeal.

She gritted her teeth and fought back the wave of distaste.

“Are you sure about this, Caiti?” Mor met her gaze in the looking glass, putting the finishing touches on her hair.

Caitrina caught sight of her image in the mirror and started, shocked at the transformation wrought by a new gown and a few hairpins. For a moment, it was like looking into the past. But the girl who met her gaze in the gilded mirror was nothing like the one that day last spring who’d donned a beautiful gown and met a handsome knight in a magical kingdom. That kingdom was gone forever—if it had ever really existed. If you looked deeper, you could see the changes. The girl was now a woman who knew what it was like to lose everything and find the strength to live—and love—again.

She would give anything to have her father and brother back, but she didn’t want to be the naïve, cosseted girl she was before. Jamie had never withheld the truth from her but treated her as an equal. No longer blind to what was going on around her, she found that life was more complicated, but also richer and more meaningful. It was a strange realization.

Her hand slid over the plush silvery blue velvet of her bodice, and her mouth lifted in a small smile. One thing hadn’t changed: She still could appreciate a beautiful gown. Earlier, she’d sent Mor to the village with the bag of coin given to her by Jamie to purchase a new dress, if one could be found. Much to her surprise, Mor had returned with this fine court gown with its ivory satin underskirt and elaborately embroidered velvet bodice—only to discover that Jamie had sent for it some time ago. Her heart squeezed, realizing he must have meant to surprise her.

Her hair had been coiled into an elaborate arrangement and secured with a wreath of delicate seed pearls that Jamie had given her on their wedding day, along with a matching set of necklace and earrings. It was the first time she’d worn them. Ironic, perhaps, given the state of her marriage.

But she could not think of that now. The pain of losing him was too paralyzing; she had to concentrate on what she needed to do.

To that end, she stood up from the table and answered Mor. “Yes, very sure.” She was determined to do whatever it took to keep her home and family safe. She would beg or bargain with the devil himself if it meant keeping her brother alive. In this case, the devil was the Earl of Argyll.

Fortunately, Jamie had not left orders confining her to the castle, but the captain of his guardsmen had insisted on accompanying her himself with at least a dozen men. “I’ll leave as soon as my escort is ready and I’ve had a chance to check on Brian.”

“The laddie is doing much better,” Mor said.

It was a relief to hear so, but Caitrina needed to see for herself. A few minutes later, she opened the door to his chamber and was pleased to see her brother sitting upright in bed. He’d been cleaned up and a fresh bandage—thankfully absent of bloodstains—placed around his head. A healthy flush had returned to his cheeks.

“I’ve had enough broth,” he said, waving the bowl away. “I’m starving. Can’t you find just one wee piece of beef?” he pleaded, a plaintive expression on his face, trying to cajole the pretty maid at his bedside.

God, he looks like Malcolm.
But if that roguish expression was any indication, he’d been around Niall too long. Her heart tugged, realizing how much Brian had aged in the months they’d been apart. He was three and ten now, but the passage of another birthday wasn’t the cause. Like her, he’d seen death and the destruction of their clan, not to mention living as an outlaw for months.

He caught sight of her in the doorway, and a wide smile spread across his boyish face. “Caiti!” He turned his efforts to her. “I’m so glad you’re here. Won’t you tell Mairi that I need beef if I’m to get back my strength?”

“ ’Twas Mor’s orders, my lady. She said the laddie was too weak to have anything other than broth.”

“Weak!” Brian protested indignantly. “Bah. I will be if I have nothing but boiled marrow and water.”

Caitrina bit back her smile at the look of outrage on his face. A young warrior did not appreciate being called weak no matter what the reference. She sat on the edge of his bed and gestured for the serving girl to leave. “I’ll talk to Mor and see what I can do about getting you something a bit more substantial,
if
you promise to stay in bed and rest until I get back.”