The Campbell Trilogy (94 page)

“And you didn’t stop and offer an encouraging word?” Colin asked incredulously. “That field may be well plowed, but ’tis a bountiful harvest all the same. She’s a lusty lass. A real screamer, I hear. Thomas said he had to put his hand over her mouth to prevent her from waking the whole castle.”

Duncan frowned. Whether she was free with her favors or not, he didn’t like to hear his brother speak with such coarseness about a lass. “I’ve no time to dally with the lasses, Colin. I’ve other matters to attend.”

“How much time do you need?” Colin paused as the young woman in question approached, her eyes sweeping over the brothers with interest. His gaze followed her round backside as she sauntered past, hips swaying enticingly. Only when she’d moved out of sight did
Colin’s gaze return to him. “The lass is panting after ye. Grant has only just arrived. Surely your talk can wait an hour?”

“The sooner I speak with him, the sooner I can persuade him to see reason.” And the sooner he could return to Castleswene and prepare his men for battle.

“You’ve a mind for only one thing,” Colin said with a shake of his head.

His brother’s look of utter disgust tugged a wry grin from Duncan. And when he saw Colin’s eyes following another comely lass, he laughed and said, “As do you, little brother.”

Colin grinned, not bothering to deny it.

If Duncan was ruthless in his determination to make a name for himself, it was because he had not the luxury of anything else. Duncan didn’t envy Colin the freedom afforded by his position, he accepted his place with the same pragmatism he would anything else he couldn’t change.

For a bastard he was more fortunate than most. When his mother had abandoned him, his father had brought him into his household and raised him alongside his half brothers and sister, treating him no differently. If anything, his father often found it difficult to hide his favoritism toward his bastard son. But it was Colin, younger by three years, who was the Laird of Auchinbreck’s heir and
tanaiste.
Not even his father’s love could change that.

But Duncan hadn’t let the circumstances of his birth impede him. He’d worked hard for what he’d achieved and in some ways he suspected it was all the more satisfying. He’d been made captain and become the right-hand man of his cousin the Earl of Argyll
in spite
of his birth, not because of it.

It was a good start, but only the beginning of what Duncan intended to achieve.

Returning to the task at hand, Duncan renewed his search for Grant.

Suddenly, he stilled.

It was the laugh that drew him. Soft and sweet, filled with a natural exuberance that seemed utterly out of place among the throng of jaded courtiers.

His gaze shot to the source and he froze. He made a sharp sound—his breath catching hard in his throat. His body charged, filled with an awareness unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

He stared transfixed with only one word springing to mind:
magnificent.

The lass was a beauty, there was no denying that, with thick dark waves of titian hair, big green eyes, flawless ivory skin, and small, delicate features.

But the hall was filled with beautiful women. It was something more. Something that seemed to reach inside him and tug with all the subtlety of a whirlpool. Something hot and primal.

An image flashed before his eyes of her naked in his arms, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted, her eyes soft with pleasure. The image was so sharp, so real, his body reacted. Blood surged through him, pooling in his groin. The hard result was as instantaneous as it was unwelcome.

What the hell was the matter with him? He was acting like an untried lad.

“What’s wrong?” Colin asked.

“Nothing,” Duncan said, knocked from the temporary stupor. His brother was watching him curiously. “The lass,” he said, with a nod in her direction. “Who is she?”

Colin gave him a strange look. “Can’t you guess?”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s standing next to the man you’ve been not very patiently waiting to arrive for the past week.”

Stunned that he could have missed something so important, Duncan looked back in her direction just in time to see her exchange a fond glance with the older man hovering protectively at her side. The very man he’d been searching for, the Laird of Grant. It was clear the two were close.

“Must be his daughter,” Colin added. “You know what happened to his wife.”

Grant’s daughter? Hell. Duncan felt a surprisingly sharp stab of disappointment, knowing without needing to be told. Notwithstanding his recent promotion among the ranks of his father’s guardsmen, the daughter of a powerful Highland chief was well beyond the reach of a bastard son.

His jaw flexed in a hard line. It was no use getting angry over things he couldn’t change. He’d found Grant, and daughter or no, he had a job to do.

He’d only taken a few steps toward them, however, when he was waylaid by his cousin, Archibald Campbell, the powerful Earl of Argyll.

“There you are, Duncan. I’ve been looking for you. Come with me, there is someone who wishes to speak with you.”

Duncan frowned. “But Grant has arrived.”

“Grant can wait,” his cousin replied, and then smiled. “The king cannot.” Seeing Colin beside him, Archie said almost as an afterthought, “You can come along, too.”

Duncan followed his cousin to a small antechamber off the hall. He should be thrilled with the opportunity—moments ago he would have been. Instead he felt an unmistakable twinge of disappointment.

Disappointment that had nothing to do with Grant and everything to do with his daughter.

There it was again, Jeannie thought. That odd sensation of being watched. She’d felt it earlier, but when she’d looked around and found nothing unusual, she wondered if she’d imagined it.

Only half-listening to the woman beside her, Elizabeth Ramsey—who had delighted in telling Jeannie every detail of the latest scandal to hit the court within two minutes of meeting her—Jeannie tried once again to find the source of that eerie sensation.

She stilled, noticing him right away—though he wasn’t looking in her direction. It was impossible not to. Tall and broad shouldered, his lean muscular frame honed tight as a bowstring, he stood out among the Lowland courtiers and smattering of Highlanders like her father who’d answered the king’s summons.

Her body hummed with a strange energy.

At first, due to his height and muscled build, she wondered if he was perhaps a guardsman—the champion warrior of some great lord. But the quality of his fine clothing belied that possibility, as did the air of consequence and authority in his proud stance. She was still wondering when he turned around.

She gasped. The minstrels stopped. The chaotic whirl around her stilled. Every nerve ending, every fiber of her being came alive with a charged jolt. Awareness radiated through her from head to toe and she felt an odd squeeze in her chest.

She’d heard the bards sing of love that could strike like a lightning bolt and thought it a romantic exaggeration. Now she wondered.

His eyes met hers and held.

A second shock followed closely on the heels of the first. His eyes were otherworldly—a clear cobalt blue that belonged to the heavens. The contrast with the dark ebony hair that fell in soft waves to his jaw was enough to stop her heart from remembering to beat.

Handsome seemed utterly insufficient to describe him.

His brow cocked speculatively and she blushed, realizing she was staring. But she couldn’t look away.

Apparently the lack of maidenly modesty amused him and the faint hint of a smile appeared on a countenance that appeared otherwise unaccustomed to the movement, revealing the deep crater of a dimple in his left cheek. On such a serious countenance it was a charming incongruity, and her heart tumbled a little farther.

His gaze shifted back to the man at his side who’d said something to him, breaking the connection.

“Who’s that man over there?” she asked Elizabeth. Before the other woman could answer, Jeannie shifted her gaze, recognizing the man beside him. “Standing next to the Earl of Argyll.”

Elizabeth followed the direction of her gaze and let out a dreamy sigh. “His cousin, Duncan Campbell. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

“Argyll’s cousin?” Jeannie replied, apparently not hiding her interest as well as she should have.

Elizabeth Ramsay’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Don’t get any ideas. Well not any permanent ones at least.” She giggled. “I wouldn’t mind a wee ride on that stallion myself.” Jeannie’s eyes widened at such ribald talk, but Elizabeth didn’t notice. She was still gazing hungrily at the man she’d called Duncan. “He’s Campbell of Auchinbreck’s
natural
son.”

Jeannie experienced a flicker of disappointment. Despite Elizabeth’s crudeness, she was right. A bastard son—even one of a powerful man like Campbell of Auchinbreck—was not a proper suitor for the daughter of Grant of Freuchie.

Discovering that he was a bastard should have discouraged her, but there was something about him. Something that rose above the circumstances of his
birth. The stamp of authority and the unmistakable aura of a man who knew his own worth.

“There she is,” the woman whispered, unable to hide her glee.

“Who?” Jeannie asked distractedly, still focused on Duncan Campbell.

“The one I told you about,” Elizabeth said with a much put-upon roll of her eyes. “Lady Catherine Murray. Lady Anne’s sister.” Lady Anne was the lady-in-waiting sent from the castle in disgrace. “I can’t believe she didn’t leave with her sister.”

Jeannie’s brows gathered above her nose. “Why, the girl did nothing wrong.”

Elizabeth looked at her as if she couldn’t believe she could be so obtuse. “But her sister did, and she’s tainted by association. Bad blood, you know.”

Jeannie’s mouth fell into a hard line and Elizabeth blushed, realizing her mistake.

“Of course I didn’t mean …”

Me.
Jeannie might not be the gossip of the moment, but it was clear that her mother’s transgressions had not been forgotten. Nor had Jeannie forgotten what it felt like to be the brunt of forked tongues.

Excusing herself, Jeannie squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and walked over to the girl who was doing her best to pretend she didn’t know that everyone was whispering about her.

Though his cousin was talking to him, Duncan was vaguely aware of a heightened buzz whirling around the room, the whispered voices rustling like leaves caught up in a gust of wind. And Grant’s daughter appeared to be right in the eye of the storm.

After he’d caught her staring at him with such refreshingly innocent candor, he’d wanted to approach her—despite the fact that she no longer stood with her father.
But then something had clearly upset her and she’d very determinedly marched over to another young woman.

The strange thing was that no one else had joined them.

“Have you heard anything I’ve just said?” Argyll said, the annoyance in his voice managing to get Duncan’s attention.

“What’s going on over there,” he said, motioning to the two girls.

Argyll lifted a brow. “I thought you didn’t like gossip.”

Duncan gave his cousin a hard stare; he knew very well he despised it.

Archie shook his head, realizing Duncan wouldn’t bite. He shrugged. “Just the latest court scandal. Apparently, one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting went to bed with her candle too close to the bed hangings. The fire was put out quickly, but caused a commotion. When the servants rushed in to put it out, the lady was stark naked.” The young earl paused for dramatic effect. “Unfortunately for her, the man in her bed was not her husband.”

“What does that have to do with them?”

“The dark-haired one is her sister, Lady Catherine Murray.” Archie was watching him carefully—too carefully. “The other is Grant’s daughter. But I suspect you know that.”

Duncan shot him a quelling glance. His eyes narrowed. So the sister was being shunned and Grant’s daughter had decided to stand up for her. Good for her.

“Odd company,” Archie noted. “You’d think Grant’s daughter would want to avoid a connection.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you not remember Grant’s wife? She caused quite the uproar when she ran off with the Englishman.”

Duncan’s eyes hardened. He bit back the rush of anger. He understood too well. “Introduce me,” he said.

His cousin’s gaze leveled on him. “Why?”

Duncan turned to him. “Because you are going to ask Lady Catherine to dance.”

Archie didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “And why would I want to do anything so noble?”

One corner of Duncan’s mouth curled up. “Because that’s just the kind of man you are.” He paused. “You just need me to remind you.”

It was horrible. No one was talking to them. Jeannie could see the toll it was taking on the other girl’s fragile demeanor. She knew from experience that pride was the only thing keeping Lady Catherine from dissolving into a pool of tears.

All the memories of those years following her mother’s scandal rushed back to her in a hot, painful wave. The shame. The embarrassment. The lonliness.