The Campbell Trilogy Read online

“By fear, force, and intimidation.”

  He took a step closer, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms and quiet her ridiculous accusations. His patience stretched taut by this brazen lass with her flashing eyes and red lips that begged to be kissed, a lass who said things to him that no one had dared before—no one. “By whatever means the law provides,” he said tightly.

  “Does that include cutting off heads for a bounty?”

  He knew she referred to the recent enactment by the Privy Council giving not just a reward, but the dead man’s possessions to the bearer of a MacGregor head. “I’ve seen grisly things on both sides that would give you nightmares for years. You are a woman. Men are not so squeamish about such things—’tis the Highland way.”

  “And that makes it right?”

  “The government has found it effective.”

  “Don’t you mean your cousin has found it effective, since he is the government? Or would like to make himself so.”

  “My cousin seeks to unify the Highlands—with the support of most of the chiefs through bonds of manrent. Without authority, the alternative is a return to the fractious feuding of clans. Is that what you want?” If it wasn’t the Campbells, it would be the Mackenzies or Gordons, but there was no doubt it would be someone.

  She thrust up that adorable chin and boldly met his gaze. “It’s not what is good for the Highlands, but greed that motivates King Campbell.”

  Jamie clenched his jaw, furious to be taken to task by a sheltered, pampered girl with little understanding of the harsh realities of the world. “You spout rumor and hyperbole as if it were fact. But what do you really know, Caitrina? You are a cosseted girl who lives in a glass castle, protected by your father and brothers. Somehow I doubt your father takes you into his confidence.” Her flush proved the truth of his observation. “But beyond the gates of your keep is the real world, a world that is not black and white as you would make it, but much more complicated. Before you are so quick to judge, make sure you know the facts.”

  She turned away from him, a stubborn set to her slim shoulders. “I know everything I need to know.”

  Her unqualified rejection shouldn’t bother him, but it did. Condemnation such as hers was common enough, but somehow coming from this lass it felt different. He took her arm and spun her back toward him, catching her against his legs and chest. His body surged with heat and anger. She struggled against him, but he held fast. One way or another, she would listen. “And what of you, Caitrina? What do you want? More men to fawn over your beauty? More jewels and costly gowns?”

  She gasped with outrage. “You know nothing of what you speak.”

  “I know that your father can deny you nothing, that you traipse around here dressed like a queen—even in the stables—but that the feuding has taken its toll on your clan.” His gaze passed from her fine silks to the rusty tools lined up against the faded, lime-washed walls of the barn, and he could see her sudden realization. “I know that you reject every man who comes before you so you don’t have to leave the comfort and safety of your little kingdom. I know that your father was widowed many years ago and yet has never remarried. Why do you think that is, Caitrina? Is it because he worries that it would upset you and the position you have claimed in the household?”

  She flinched as if he’d slapped her. It was clear no one had ever talked this way to her. “You’re wrong!” she seethed, her cheeks crimson and lovely breasts heaving. But he saw the flicker of uncertainty.

  He released her, knowing he’d said enough. Stepping back, he dragged a hand through his hair, giving his body a chance to calm. He hadn’t meant to speak so harshly, but her curt dismissal of his suit—a suit he’d never intended to actually pursue—had pricked his anger. Her prejudice against the Campbells was all too common throughout the Highlands, but this lass with her bold tongue and naïve accusations had penetrated his armor like no other.

  He strode toward the door and turned to look at her one more time. She stood stone still, her face pale and hands clenched at her side. Strong and proud, but surprisingly fragile. His words had left their mark. He felt a twinge of guilt, an urge to comfort, but quickly forced it aside. He’d spoken the truth; it was time Caitrina Lamont heard it. Her father was doing her no favors in keeping her ignorant of the problems and unrest in the Highlands. If Jamie’s suspicions about Alasdair MacGregor proved true, the real world would rain down on her soon enough.

  Chapter 5

  Edgy after his confrontation with Caitrina, Jamie decided to return to the keep rather than join the others at the loch for the races. He’d ridden out early that morning, and except for a few oatcakes and a bit of dried beef to break his fast, he hadn’t eaten all day. As he passed across the yard, he was surprised to see the Lamont chief walking toward him, having just descended the stairs from the keep.

  Jamie nodded in greeting. “Lamont. I thought you would be down at the races.”

  “I had other matters to attend to.” The older man gave him an appraising stare, taking in Jamie’s dusty, windblown appearance. “You left early this morning.”

  “My men and I decided to do a bit of hunting.”

  “And were you successful?”

  Though innocuous on its surface, Jamie was aware of the subtle undercurrent to the question. The Lamont was wary of his presence, and though Jamie’s expressed interest in the lass had deflected some of the suspicion—it hadn’t deflected all of it.

  “Not this time.” But he would be. He knew the MacGregors were here. He could feel it. Though for the Lamont’s sake he hoped he was wrong.

  His cousin had wanted to send troops immediately, but Jamie had convinced Argyll to wait until they had more to go on than an old tale of Highland hospitality—although the story itself provided a compelling explanation for why the Lamonts would risk so much in sheltering the outlawed MacGregors. There was nothing more sacred in the Highlands than the age-old custom of Highland hospitality. When it was invoked, a clan was obligated to shelter even its worst enemy. The well-known tale between the Lamonts and the MacGregors was proof of its force.

  Years ago, a Lamont chief had gone hunting with the son of a MacGregor chief. An argument broke out, and the Lamont took a dirk to the MacGregor’s son, killing him. The Lamont escaped but was pursued. He was forced to seek shelter at Glenstrae—the stronghold of the very man whose son he’d killed. Not knowing that the Lamont had just murdered his son, the MacGregor chief agreed to shelter the Lamont from his pursuers.

  When the MacGregor clansmen showed up and told the old chief about the murder of his son, the chief—despite his grief and fury over the death of his son—according to the custom of Highland hospitality, refused to turn the Lamont over to them. Fearing that his enraged men would harm the man, the MacGregor personally escorted his son’s murderer back to Cowal.

  Despite this heartbreaking loss, the bond between the two clans had been unbreakable ever since, and Jamie suspected that the time might have come for the Lamonts to pay back the MacGregor’s hospitality.

  But a hunch wasn’t good enough; he needed proof.

  Jamie had been watching the Lamont closely, and so far there had been no signs of anything unusual. Not that he would have expected otherwise. If the Lamont suspected Jamie’s true purpose, he would know he was being watched. Jamie’s men had the perimeter secured: No one was getting in or out of Ascog without them knowing it.

  It was clear that the other man had something else on his mind as well. The look he fixed on Jamie was hard and calculating. “And what of the purpose for your visit, Campbell?”

  Jamie didn’t pretend to misunderstand. He respected the other man’s challenge. “Your daughter is very beautiful.”

  The old chief’s eyes narrowed. “You are in earnest, then?”

  “I am.” It should have been a lie, but Jamie was surprised to realize by the vehemence in his voice and the deep sensation in his gut that he actually meant it. It was a visceral reaction, a snap decision for a man who oth