The Campbell Trilogy Read online

  What did it mean? After all these years did he still have feelings for her?

  Her chest throbbed. It didn’t matter. Protecting her family was all that mattered now. They’d had their chance and failed. Girlish fantasies of “what if” had no place in her life.

  She recalled her reason for seeking him out—a reason made even more pronounced after seeing him with Ella. “If you are hunting today, I assume that means you are feeling better?”

  He didn’t answer right away. He knew what she was getting at. Instead, he bit a piece of bread off with his teeth, chewed slowly, and washed it down with a long swig of ale, trying to harness the bloodlust pounding through him.

  Someone had tried to abduct her. She’d been in danger. She could have been hurt, and very likely would have been raped before or after being dragged to the Kirk door. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t quiet the rage storming inside him, waiting to unleash its violent fury. The urge to kill gripped him hard and would not let go.

  By the time his gaze returned to hers, however, he was once again in control. “I am much improved.”

  “Good, then you’ll be leaving soon?”

  Duncan would have found her eagerness amusing if it wasn’t at his expense. He wouldn’t be surprised to find his bag packed by nightfall and Jeannie standing at the gate, ready to lift the steel yett herself to see him out.

  He was on the verge of giving her what she wanted. God knows, it’s what he should do. If he was caught, he was a dead man, and every day he stayed here increased the risk. He needed to find proof to clear his name before word of his return leaked out. Clearly, Jeannie had no intention of helping him. There was no cause for him to stay.

  But she was in danger. And every primitive male instinct in his body recoiled at leaving her alone and vulnerable.

  God’s blood, what the hell was wrong with him? Why did he care? She was not his responsibility, nor did she want his protection. He should go …

  “Aye,” he said. “I’ll go.” His stomach twisted, his body in revolt. He couldn’t do it. His mouth fell in a grim line, furious with her and with himself. “Once I can be assured that you are well protected.”

  Her face fell. “I’m quite well protected. Besides, my safety is none of your concern.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m making it my concern. If you think I’m leaving now, you are very much mistaken. And if you are so well protected, how did I manage to come upon you swimming naked in a loch alone?” His temper gave way. Naked. “What in Hades could you have been thinking, Jeannie?”

  She stiffened, her green eyes sparked with defiance. “I managed well enough. Need I remind you of the hole in your stomach?”

  “Your pistol was effective against one man, but what if there had been more?”

  She set her tiny pointed chin stubbornly. “I had Tavish.”

  “Your guardsman was too busy watching the performance in the loch and was lucky to only suffer a clop on the head for his transgression.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I’ll not explain myself to you. You sound just like my mother-in-law.”

  “Then he must be a man of exceptional good sense.”

  The haughty voice tinged with a faint French accent could only belong to one person. Duncan tensed. Damn. He’d been so wrapped up in Jeannie, he’d failed to notice the Marchioness of Huntly’s approach. The one person he’d been doing his best to avoid.

  Jeannie had her back to her mother-in-law, but Duncan noticed her stiffen at the sound of her voice. His gaze flickered back and forth between the two women. Apparently, Jeannie’s devotion to her husband did not extend to his mother.

  The older woman’s hawk-like gaze settled on her daughter-in-law. It wasn’t with dislike, precisely, more like forbearance. As if Jeannie was a personal challenge—another cross to bear, to use a cliché for the notoriously penitent Catholic.

  “From what I heard,” the Marchioness continued, “I assume this man is trying to impart upon you the seriousness of your recent lapse in judgment.” She made it sound as if this was a recurring situation. “You should listen to him.” Thinking she’d found an ally—though Duncan hadn’t decided yet—the Marchioness turned to him, bestowing what looked to be a rare smile of approval on him. “I hope you will impart to my daughter-in-law the seriousness of her situation, alone without a husband to protect her.”

  He remembered how Jeannie’s cheeks would flush when she was angry; her emotions displayed for all to see. Now the only signs of emotion were the balled fists at her side and lips pressed so firmly together that tiny white lines appeared around her mouth. Ten years had given her a measure of control over her reactions, but still he realized the Marchioness must be bullying her into finding a husband.

  He sprang to her defense. “She’s not alone,” he corrected, watching the Marchioness’s smile wither liked a dried vine. If she was looking for an ally against Jeannie it would not be with him. He spoke boldly, without the deference a man of his station should afford her, but it wasn’t in his nature to condescend—not knowing his place had always been his problem. “It’s not a husband she needs, but better trained guards, which is why the lady’s brother sent me.” His eyes slid to Jeannie, daring her to argue. But she was watching him with a puzzled look on her face, as if surprised by his defense of her. “When I’m done, Lady Gordon will be able to swim at the loch as often as she likes.”

  The Marchioness’s beady gaze sharpened. He could empathize with the mouse that had just crossed the hawk’s line of vision. He held his expression impassive as her eyes studied his face with unmistakable intensity. “Who are you? You look familiar. Have we met?”

  His pulse spiked, but he met her inquiry with a relaxed smile. “How kind of you to remember, my lady. I’m Duncan MacAllan, we met many years ago at court. I was but a lad, attending to the Laird of Freuchie.” MacAllan was a well-known sept of Clan Grant.

  Her mouth pursed distastefully at the mention of Jeannie’s father. The Marquis of Huntly may have forgiven Grant for his former transgressions preceding his return to the Gordon fold at Glenlivet, but forgiveness was not in the Marchioness’s vernacular. What would she do if she ever discovered he was a Campbell?

  He resisted the urge to rub his neck.

  His relaxed response did not persuade her. “Your face reminds me … Who is your father?”

  He did not need to feign the shadows that crossed his face. “I am a bastard, my lady.” That much at least was true.

  “I see,” she said, eyeing him down her long nose. His bastard blood having succeeded in convincing the Marchioness, temporarily at least, that he was beneath her interest. But Duncan knew his resemblance to his father was marked. How long would it take her to connect him with her husband’s enemy, the former Campbell of Auchinbreck?

  She looked to Jeannie. “Come along, daughter. I’ve something I wish to discuss with you.”

  More likely she wanted to keep Jeannie away from him. But she needn’t worry on that accord—Jeannie didn’t need her help. The Marchioness turned on her heel and strode away as regally as a queen. Jeannie made to follow her, but glanced back over her shoulder, a worried look on her face. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said in a low voice.

  Duncan gave her a wry smile. “I know.” In defending Jeannie he’d placed himself under the Marchioness’s scrutiny. She was suspicious. But despite the danger he could not regret it. “I’ll be careful.”

  She nodded and walked away.

  Duncan knew he didn’t have much time. The most prudent thing would be to leave now and continue his search for information that would clear his name. But he couldn’t leave—not yet. He told himself it wasn’t just because the idea of Jeannie in danger made his insides twist and curl in a confused mass. The next few days would also give him an opportunity to search the keep and solar and see what he could find of Jeannie’s secrets.

  But more and more, he hoped he didn’t find anything.

  True to his word, over t