The Campbell Trilogy Read online

  Jeannie’s face flushed with anger, she was tired of her mother-in-law’s domineering ways. She was only bringing him a tray for heaven’s sake. “There are, but I shall see to this myself. It is my fault he is injured and my responsibility to see to his care.”

  “Do you think it is a good idea? What do you really know of this man?”

  Jeannie felt a prickle of alarm. Though the Marchioness couldn’t possibly have guessed who Duncan was, curiosity on her part could be dangerous. “He is a guardsman sent by my brother, what more should I know?”

  “He doesn’t look like a guardsman,” the Marchioness said flatly.

  Jeannie cursed inwardly, for once in agreement with her mother by marriage. Duncan did not look like a typical man-at-arms—not just because of his wealth, but because of his bearing. She should have made him a king, it would have been more believable. She thought quickly. “He’s a mercenary.”

  The Marchioness’s mouth pursed in distaste. “I see.” She gave Jeannie a shrewd smile. “I’m only trying to think of you, daughter. A woman in your position can never be too careful to avoid talk.”

  Jeannie bristled at the innuendo. “What position is that exactly? I’m the lady of the keep, why should anyone talk about whether I bring an injured man a tray of food.”

  “You’re right, of course. No doubt, I’m just being overly cautious. I worry about you and Helen out here alone when I leave.”

  Jeannie hadn’t seen Ella—a nickname that had stuck when Dougall couldn’t say Helen—all morning. She shuddered to think about what kind of mischief her daughter had gotten in today. Jeannie was trying to be patient, but the little minx had become even more obstinate since her father’s death, refusing to heed her at all. She had a mind of her own and unfortunately shared her mother and grandmother’s tendency toward impulsiveness. Stubborn and impetuous was not a good combination.

  Jeannie turned back to her mother-in-law. “Are you returning to Castle Gordon, then?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.

  The Marchioness eyed her shrewdly as if she knew exactly what Jeannie was thinking. “I’ve received word from the Marquis that he has agreed to the king’s demands and will sign the confessions of faith.”

  Again, Jeannie thought. And probably with just as much sincerity as the other few times he’d renounced his Catholicism. “Then he will be released from Stirling Castle?”

  “Soon, I hope.” Her mouth fell in a hard line. “Though Argyll is looking for reasons to prevent it.” One more reason why Duncan’s sudden reemergence could prove troublesome. “Have you given any more thought to the Earl of Erroll’s son?”

  Jeannie shook her head. “I’m not yet ready to think about marrying again.” And when she did it would not be to a man so firmly under the Marquis’s thumb. The Gordons were less than subtle in their desire to see her son’s inheritance under their control; they’d already appointed Francis’s cousin as Tutor.

  The Marchioness nodded. She’d loved her second son and that fondness was the only thing that tempered her desire to see Jeannie remarried immediately.

  “You mustn’t wait too long,” her mother-in-law said. “Helen is in need of a man’s influence.” Jeannie heard the subtle criticism and bristled. “Just this morning I caught her hiding under the bread table, listening to the servants’ gossip again.”

  Jeannie bit her lip, knowing she should act properly horrified, but remembering all too clearly her own hiding spots where she’d listened to the kitchen maids lusting over the latest handsome—

  Oh, no! Her stomach crashed to her feet and she almost dropped the tray along with it. Ella wouldn’t. But Jeannie knew she would. Muttering some pithy excuse to her mother-in-law, she walked calmly to the stairs when every instinct in her body urged her to run. To tear her daughter away from him.

  She heard their voices at the bottom of the stairs. Her heart jumped to her throat. Panic welled up inside her. She told herself to calm. Ella couldn’t say anything to make him suspicious and Duncan would never hurt her. Not intentionally at least. Her chest tugged. But Ella was so sensitive, so vulnerable since her father’s death. And Duncan was so cold and remote—hard to the bone. Ella wouldn’t understand his aloofness.

  Jeannie clambered up the steps and heard Ella say, “No, this is my brother’s room.” Dougall. Oh, God! Ice filled her veins.

  Then Duncan’s voice. “Where is your brother—?”

  Jeannie’s sudden appearance in the doorway stopped him. He took in her wide, panic-filled eyes and shortness of breath.

  “Ella!” she shouted.

  Her daughter turned uncertainly, the abruptness of Jeannie’s voice putting her on alert.

  “I wasn’t doing anything,” Ella said automatically.

  Jeannie took in the scene: her daughter sitting on the trunk with her feet tucked underneath her and Duncan relaxed, lying on the bed with his arms crossed behind his head—an indulgent look in his eye. For a moment her mind flashed to the loch. He’d lain just like that after …

  Stop. She shook off the memory.

  Feeling some of her fear subside, she forced a smile to her face as she addressed her daughter. “I know,” she said, conscious of Duncan’s eyes on her. Hands shaking, she carefully set the small wooden tray on the table. “But Duncan needs to get some rest. And it’s almost time for your lessons.”

  Ella gave Duncan a glance of longing that made Jeannie’s blood chill. Had her daughter fallen into the same trap as she had, becoming immediately captivated by him?

  “Do I have to?” she whined, giving her mother a much put upon look.

  Jeannie nodded, not swayed by those big pleading blue eyes. “Gather the others; I’ll be down shortly.”

  Ella hopped off the trunk and bounded out of the room, auburn curls dancing behind her. Only then did Jeannie breathe a sigh of relief. She turned back to Duncan. His gaze was as frosty as the snow tops of the Cairngorms.

  He stood, seemingly unhampered by his injury. “You couldn’t actually think I’d hurt her?”

  She straightened, not shying from his angry rebuke. But as he walked toward her, she felt the sudden urge to flee. She didn’t know where to look, uncomfortably aware of his powerful naked chest. Her body heated, flushing with awareness.

  How was it possible that after ten years he could still make her feel so strongly? It didn’t make sense, she’d only known him for such a short time. Why after so many years did her body respond? Why did remembering still hurt? She’d almost half convinced herself that she’d never really loved him—that like her mother she’d gotten carried away by the moment.

  Why couldn’t she be like him? Stony faced and indifferent. He looked at her with exactly the right amount of familiarity—as someone he’d known a long time ago who betrayed him. If he remembered their intimacy he did not show it—even when she’d been standing naked before him he hadn’t betrayed even a flicker of desire. A sharp contrast to the way his eyes used to smolder with heat at every glance. Now he looked at her the same way he did everyone else. If there had ever been anything special before, it was gone.

  “I wasn’t sure,” she said, dropping her gaze.

  It was a mistake. Her eyes fell on his shoulder at precisely the spot she’d used to love to bury her face against. She stood transfixed for a moment, her heart rising to her throat. Pain welled up from a forgotten place. Her breath was forced—hard and uneven. If she closed her eyes she could remember the warmth flooding over her as she’d pressed her cheek to his skin and curled into the curve of his body. The contentment. The security. The feeling that with him at her side nothing would ever hurt her again.

  God, will I ever forget?

  “Look at me, Jeannie.”

  The hard clip of his voice snapped her out of it. Her mouth fell in a tight line, furious at her weakness. It was illusory. He hadn’t protected her. He hadn’t loved her. He’d left her.

  “You know me better than that,” he said.

  She met his gaze, feel