The Campbell Trilogy Read online

He cupped her chin, stroking her skin with a sweep of his callused fingertips. It seemed impossible that such a physically powerful man could touch so gently. He tilted her mouth to his. She sucked in her breath, anticipation crackling inside her like wildfire on dry leaves. Her nipples tightened against his chest, pressing against him, straining. Her entire body felt so sensitive, as if with one touch she could dissolve into a pool of liquid heat.

  The warmth of his breath brushed her skin, the subtle hint of spice sweet temptation. Finally, when she didn’t think she could wait a moment longer, his lips touched hers.

  She felt a sharp tug in her chest, then a shock of surprise and a moment of blissful awakening like the petals of a flower blossoming under the hot sun. His lips were warm and velvety soft. She could taste him. The hint of spice she’d detected earlier—cinnamon—but made deeper and more mysterious by his heat.

  His hand moved from her chin to behind her neck, his fingers wrapped around the sensitive skin, sliding through her hair to bring her lips more firmly against his.

  His kiss was bold and possessive—like the man—and nothing like the chaste peck she’d imagined.

  She sank against him, savoring the sensation of his mouth on hers, wanting to taste him deeper. Excitement pulsed inside her. He moved his mouth against hers, urging her lips apart. His hard muscles bulged under her fingertips with restraint, and she could feel him struggle with something.

  With a soft groan he released her, leaving her senses reeling. Leaving her disappointed. But most of all leaving her wanting more.

  That realization shattered the haze that had surrounded her since he’d first taken her hand. A flush rose in her cheeks in mortification over the liberties she’d allowed him to take. A stranger. Her father and brothers would kill him if they knew what he’d done.

  “You’ve taken your payment,” she said shakily, turning away so he couldn’t see how he’d affected her. “Now if you please, leave me in peace.”

  He caught her arm and forced her gaze to his. “I didn’t take anything, my sweet.” She could see the anger in his gaze. “Care for me to remind you?”

  Eyes wide, she shook her head. He dropped her arm and moved to his horse. She wondered if he was just going to leave her without another word. The thought was strangely disappointing.

  Instead, she was surprised when he retrieved a plaid from the leather bag attached to his saddle. He strode back toward her. “Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “You can wear this.”

  The thoughtful gesture couldn’t have surprised her more than if he’d just sprouted wings and a halo instead of the horns and trident she’d attributed to him. She had only just realized herself how hopeless it would have been to try to put her gown on by herself. With his plaid wrapped around her, she could prevent the embarrassment and awkward explanations of returning to the keep in her sark. “Thank you,” she whispered. He nodded his head in acknowledgment and turned to leave, but she stopped him. “Who are you?”

  A wry smile hovered around the edges of his mouth. “A simple knight, my lady.” Without another word, he mounted his horse and rode off toward the castle.

  She watched him go, wondering if perhaps his armor wasn’t shining in the sunlight after all.

  Damn. That hadn’t gone at all as he’d planned.

  Jamie Campbell wasn’t often taken by surprise, but the Lamont lass had managed to do just that. She’d been like a warm, sugary confection in his arms. Soft and sweet, dissolving against him in a delicious pool of heat. He drew a deep breath, trying to tamp the fire still simmering in his blood, but the surge of lust that had taken hold of him from that kiss was proving unusually tenacious. It had been a long time since he’d experienced that kind of hunger—hunger that would take a whole lot more than a kiss to satisfy.

  It certainly had been an inauspicious introduction to the lass he was supposed to be here to court.

  He’d been in the woods searching for something far different when he’d happened upon the tail end of what appeared to be the successful rescue of a kitten. The lad had just scampered off when he caught sight of her—or he should say her nicely rounded backside—just as she was about to fall and break her pretty wee neck.

  He’d noticed the fine gown strewn over the log, but it wasn’t until he’d seen her face that he’d realized who she was: Caitrina Lamont. It had to be her; the resemblance to her mother was uncanny. He’d seen Marion Campbell once when he was a child, and she was hard to forget. Marion’s father, the Laird of Cawdor, had never forgiven his beautiful daughter for running off with his sworn enemy, the Lamont chief, all those years ago. The feud between the clans lived on. An all too common occurrence for neighboring clans where land was scarce and its possession subject to dispute.

  Jamie had heard tales of Caitrina Lamont’s beauty sung far and wide, and for once rumor wasn’t exaggerated. Usually, he preferred a quieter, more reserved beauty, but something about the chit called to him with her striking combination of black hair, fair skin, blue eyes, and red lips. And that body … Hell, she had a body to make a man weep with desire—long, shapely limbs, a curvy backside, and lush, round breasts. His body stirred, remembering all too well how all those delectable curves had felt pressed up against him … it had been heaven—and hell, because he couldn’t touch her. The naïve chit should be glad that it was he who’d discovered her.

  Though he doubted she saw it that way.

  He’d had every intention of helping her down from the tree, but something in her tone had provoked him—as if it never occurred to her that someone would refuse. And he’d felt an unexpected urge to tease her. The expression on her face when he’d told her no was priceless: utter bewilderment and confusion. Caitrina Lamont was obviously a lass used to getting her own way.

  He’d thought to teach the haughty minx a lesson by demanding a kiss. He’d had no intention of holding her to their bargain—until she’d tried to outmaneuver him by offering her hand instead. Still, he’d intended only to make her desire a kiss—not to actually kiss her. But the sweet taste of her skin, and the even sweeter tremble of innocent passion when his lips pressed against her wrist and arm, had proved too tempting to resist.

  Leaving the shelter of the trees, Jamie slowed his mount as the castle came into view. Ascog Castle, the stronghold of the Lamonts of Ascog, was a simple rectangular tower house of four stories and a garret surrounded by a sturdy barmkin wall situated on a small rise on the northern edge of the loch. With the loch to the south, woodlands to the west, and hills to the north, there were plenty of potential hiding places. It was his mission to discover whether anyone was using them.

  Alasdair MacGregor and his men were on the run, and Jamie had the letters of fire and sword that gave him the authority to find them and bring them to justice for the dark deeds done on the day that had become known as the massacre of Glenfruin—the glen of sorrow.

  It wasn’t the first time the MacGregors had been outlawed. The clan had been in trouble with the law off and on for the last eighty years, but for King James, Glenfruin—where over one hundred forty Colquhouns were killed and every house and barn in Luss burned—had been the last straw. The Privy Council proscribed the clan—forbidden on pain of death even to call themselves MacGregor—and gave orders to hunt down and extirpate them. The commission of doing so had been given to Jamie’s cousin the Earl of Argyll.

  Jamie had followed the trail of rumor, stolen livestock, and burned-out farms throughout Argyll and the borders for the past month. Though all signs pointed to MacGregor heading to his former lands near the Lomond Hills, Jamie thought it was too obvious. Alasdair MacGregor was smarter than that.

  Despite their outlaw status, the MacGregors still had plenty of friends in the Highlands who might be willing to give them shelter—friends like the Lamonts. An old tale of Highland hospitality—the most revered of Highland customs—and a hunch had led Jamie to Ascog instead.

  When he reached the gate, one of the Lamont’s guardsmen stopped him. �€