The Campbell Trilogy (97 page)

He held back, lulling her into a false sense of security for a few minutes, before catching up with her in a few powerful strokes. With one hand he reached out and latched his fingers around a slim ankle, pulling her back until he circled her waist. The ivory linen of her nightraile puffed out like a sail, revealing long, shapely legs. She tried to wriggle free, but he held her firm, her efforts only succeeding in stirring his body to painful awareness. He pulled her around to face him when they burst through the surface, both of them gasping big gulps of air from their underwater struggle.

Her eyes shone with laughter as she tried to push away. “Let me go.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, snuggling her more firmly against him. God she felt amazing. Chest to chest, hip to hip, legs entwined—he could feel every glorious inch of her. From the soft pillow of her lush breasts, to the hard point of her nipples and bones of her hips, to the sweet juncture at her thighs, to the strong, lean muscles of her legs. They could have been naked, there was nothing between them but water and wet fabric.

Playing with fire …

All of a sudden she seemed to become aware of their position—of their very intimate position. And there could be no doubt of his very prominent state of arousal. Her eyes widened and he heard the erotic little catch of breath in a small gasp. But she didn’t move. The innocent curiosity in her gaze only fanned the flames of his desire—and his agony.

“You cheated,” she said, her voice husky.

He was intensely conscious of the heavy rise and fall of her chest against his. Of her soft breasts crushed to his chest. Of the hard point of her nipples branding him. He forced his attention back to their conversation. Cheated … he arched a brow. “How so?”

“You grabbed my ankle.”

He shrugged. “There are no rules in warfare. A good warrior takes advantage of any opportunity.”

She bit back a smile. “And what of honor?”

He smiled wickedly. “Overrated.”

“Wretch.” She giggled and tried to push away again. This time he let her go. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold her like that and not kiss her.

She swam to the edge of the loch and levered herself up to sit on a long flat rock that served as a ledge over the water. Planting his hands on the edge of the rock, he pulled himself up beside her. He caught her staring at his flexed arms, but she quickly turned away, embarrassment staining her cheeks. He fought a grin. Apparently, the prominent muscles in his arms developed from the constant sword training served another function other than dispatching enemies.

She’d brought her knees to her chest, hiding her nakedness from his view, but he wouldn’t have trusted himself to look at her anyway. They sat in contented silence, the exertion of their swim seeping from their bodies as they watched the reflection of the silvery moon bob on the rippling black water.

“You’ll be leaving soon?” she asked.

He nodded. “Aye, the situation with Huntly has deteriorated. I need to return to Castleswene to report back to my father.” He wasn’t sure how much she knew of their reasons for being at court.

King James was furious with the recalcitrant Earl of Huntly and intended to rein the Great Lord in. Not only
had Huntly refused to either renounce his Catholic faith or leave the country as required by last year’s decree, but he’d also been accused of conspiring with the king of Spain to restore the papist religion to Scotland. Huntly’s continued defiance was an embarrassment to King James who was trying to assert himself as heir—a Protestant heir—to the aging English queen.

“There will be war?”

Apparently she knew enough. “It seems unavoidable—unless Huntly agrees to the king’s demands to renounce his faith.”

“Which he won’t do.”

“Probably not,” he admitted.

“And you will fight?” She couldn’t keep the trepidation out of her voice.

“Aye.” She looked like she wanted to say something, but he cut her off. “It’s what I do, Jeannie.” There was something inside him that drove him and he couldn’t give it up—not even for her.

She gave him a long look but didn’t respond. Instead, she asked, “And what is my father’s part in all of this?”

He shrugged. “That’s up to him. But the king hopes he will be persuaded to see the virtue of our side.”

Jeannie considered him thoughtfully. “In other words, King James is hoping to take advantage of the current feuding between my father and Huntly.”

It was an astute observation. Her father had been furious with Huntly’s role in the murder of the Earl of Moray—enough to break his vassal duty and feud with his lord. The king hoped to drive the wedge even further between the two. “Aye,” Duncan admitted.

She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose it’s possible, but the feud with Huntly has waned. The fighting was severe and I doubt my father would like to see it renewed. I would think it more likely that he would stay neutral—it’s not his battle. The Grants repudiated the Catholic religion
years ago.” She untucked her feet from under her and dropped them back down into the loch, kicking carelessly on the surface of the water. Even her tiny arched feet were adorable.

Duncan gave her a measured look, for all her naïveté she was more aware of the political situation than he’d realized. She’d echoed her father’s response to Duncan’s appeal almost verbatim. “Your father says much the same, but he might be forced to chose a side whether he wants to or not.” And sooner than he realized. The king had given a royal commission to Argyll—his lieutenant—to march against Huntly before the month was out. “You are close with your father?”

She gave him a wry smile. “Probably more than is typical for a daughter. We’re all close—my father, brother, sisters, and I. Circumstances …” her voice dropped off. She sighed deeply. “Well, suffice it to say, there is strength in numbers. A unified front is an easier position from which to defend.”

He knew she referred to her mother’s scandalous past. They’d never spoken of it directly. Such conversations were not easy on the dance floor.

She spoke matter-of-factly, yet somehow Duncan sensed that it was only a façade. “It must have been very difficult for you. You are the eldest, are you not?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“How old were you when she left?”

“Nine.”

Only a bairn. Duncan felt a sharp spur of rage directed at the woman who could thoughtlessly abandon her children like that. “And you stepped into your mother’s shoes.”

Jeannie shrugged. “As much as I could, but I was young.” It was clear she didn’t want to talk about it. “It was a long time ago, I hardly ever think about it anymore.”

He doubted that was true. He suspected she thought about it every day. “You never really get over a parent leaving you.”

The unintentional revelation took him aback. He never talked about the circumstances of his birth. But with Jeannie … it was different. He found himself wanting to share things with her. He sensed she would understand.

Her gaze sharpened. “Speaking from experience?”

It was his turn for the wry grin. “Perhaps.”

She was quiet for a moment almost as if out of respect for his memories. “You are close to your father as well?”

He nodded. “Aye. I’m fortunate.”

“From what I hear, I think it is your father who is fortunate. You’ve made quite a name for yourself already. He must be proud.”

The praise warmed him, probably more than it should. “Inquiring after me, have you?”

Her cheeks flushed adorably. “Of course not!” Seeing that he was teasing, she smiled and mumbled under her breath, “Arrogant jackanapes.” She tossed a loose piece of stone into the water. “If you are leaving, does that mean your mission has been a success?”

He lifted a brow.

“I assume it is you who was given the task of convincing my father.”

This time the insight surprised him. She had a sharp mind, more so than he’d realized. “I’m cautiously optimistic.”

“In other words ‘no,’ but you haven’t given up.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You would make a horrible politician with such a blunt assessment.”

She returned his grin. “I fear you are right. My father is always telling me that I think with my mouth and that
I don’t necessarily need to say aloud whatever pops in my head.”

He grinned. “It’s enchanting. But you are right about your father. He is not convinced, but I might have a new proposition for him. Perhaps a way to sweeten the bargain.”

Jeannie turned her face to his and his breath caught in his throat. The moon bathed her delicate features in an ethereal light. She was so young. Unspoiled. With her damp hair strewn around her shoulders, she could be a sea nymph or a mermaid.

He ached to touch her. To mold his hand against the soft curve of her cheek. To lower his face to hers and feel her lips move under his. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

“What kind of bargain?” she asked.

He looked into her eyes. “Perhaps an alliance by marriage?”

Her gaze scanned his face anxiously as if looking for a crack. “What are you suggesting?”

The excitement in her voice gave him courage.

He wanted to tell her what was in his heart. That from the first moment he’d seen her he knew that she was his. That he’d never felt like this before. That she’d brought laughter and levity to a life that had been consumed by duty and ambition. But words were the province of the poet and the bard; Duncan was a man of action. He would show her how he felt, show her for the rest of his life if she would have him.

He took her hand. It felt so tiny and soft in his. It was too soon, but he found himself asking, “Marry me.”

His heart, his breath, everything stopped as he waited for an answer, a sign …

The balance of his life seemed poised on an edge, waiting to tumble or soar at her decision.

Marry me.
Who would have thought two simple words could bring such happiness? Joy burst inside Jeannie in a cacophony of effervescent bliss. Slowly, her mouth curved into a wide smile and tears filled her eyes.

Gazing up into the darkly handsome face, she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The look he gave her would be etched in her memory for all time. For one unguarded moment, he opened his heart, showing her the full force of his love.

Duncan Campbell was not a man to sing her ballads of love, or compose odes to her beauty, but the depth of his feelings was perfect in its simple purity. This strong young warrior loved her, and in him, Jeannie had found a solid future—he would never let her down.

He returned her smile, his teeth flashing white in the semidarkness. Gazing into the unworldly blue of his eyes, she had never felt happier.

And then, because nothing could seem more natural, he lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers.

She sucked in her breath. The soft silk of his lips, the subtle taste of him, the warmth of his breath a shock of sensation. But by time she’d started to process what was happening, he was already lifting his head.

She blinked her eyes, dazed, feeling the swift disappointment of a bairn who’d been offered a sweet confection, given one taste, and had it quickly snatched away.

Reading her thoughts, he chuckled softly and cupped
her face in his hand, sweeping his thumb over her bottom lip. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you.”

A thrill raced through her. “Do it again,” she blurted, before discretion could intervene.

His face darkened; heat simmered in his eyes. He lowered his mouth and kissed her again, this time harder, firmer, coaxing her lips with his.

Her senses awakened like the petals of a flower in the sun. Instantly, she became aware of everything about him: his rich, spicy taste, the heat that seemed to radiate from his powerful male form, the rough scratch of his jaw on hers.

The chaste kiss felt like a brand, so wholly did it consume her.

She’d never experienced anything like this before. The connection was more powerful than she could have ever imagined. Nothing had ever felt so right.

Passion unfurled inside her, spreading over her in a warm flush of excitement and eager anticipation.

He started to pull away, but she made a sound of protest and leaned into him. One kiss wasn’t enough; she wanted more.

He groaned and the kiss intensified. His mouth was both tender and demanding as his lips moved over hers. She sank against him, her body dissolving in a pool of liquid heat. She brought her hands up to rest on the solid frame of his shoulders to steady herself. God, he was strong. She recalled her fascination with the power of his body when he’d emerged from the water. With the wet shirt molding his chest and arms, she could see every ridge, every bulge, every chiseled block of steely muscle in his arms.

Now she could feel him and the thrill was even more powerful. The lean muscles flexed under her hands—as if he was straining. Holding back. Fighting for control.
She sensed the danger, but she was too caught up in the whirlwind of sensation drowning her senses to worry about it.

Following his lead, she kissed him back, sinking into his mouth, into his chest, into him. She couldn’t get close enough.