Beloved Imposter (21 page)

“Who is he, milord?” one of the men asked.

“James Campbell,” he said shortly.

The name spread quickly. More and more of his men and villagers appeared in the courtyard, whispering loudly. Some swore, others wondered at the man’s fate. It was obvious some would like to dispatch him immediately.

Campbell slid a leg over the saddle and slid down with surprising grace since his hands were tied behind him. He must have heard Rory’s orders, the angry taunts of Macleans, but he gave no sign that any of it rattled the icy calm he maintained.

“Nothing is to happen to him,” Rory added in a low voice. “If there is any punishment, I will be the one inflicting it.”

One of the selected men—he knew all three, and, to the best of his admittedly short knowledge, they were to be trusted—looked disgruntled at the order.

“Is that clear?” he asked.

“Aye,” one said reluctantly. “What about his bonds?”

“Cut them once he is locked in the cell.”

He turned his attention back to Campbell. “Try to escape, and my blacksmith will fit you with irons.”

He saw a muscle flex in the man’s throat and realized he was not as relaxed as he tried to appear.

“Take him,” he said.

He watched as two of the assigned men took Campbell’s arms and led him around to the back of the keep, to the stairs that would take them to the dungeon below. The cells were cold and always damp from the moisture that seeped into the rocks. There was no light other than that furnished by the guards. It was a mean place, but at the moment Rory felt no regret.

Ordinarily, a prisoner—a hostage—was asked to give his parole and was housed in the residence area of the keep, but he could not stop thinking about the way Felicia Campbell had fooled the whole of Inverleith. If she had such talents, who was to say her cousin would not as well?

The Campbells were not known for either their civility or their honor. He had to admit that neither did his clan have a better past. His ancestor had cast a stain on the clan that would be forever etched in its history.

He watched until the Campbell disappeared, then he went to look for Felicia Campbell / Janet Cameron. He would discover what he wanted to know, and then he had decisions to make.

“What are you going to do?” Lachlan suddenly appeared at his side. His brother had been to the rear of the party, but Rory had no doubt he had heard his orders.

“I am no’ sure,” he said, falling back into boyhood brogue.

“Remember, we took her. She did not come of her own free will.”

Rory spun on him, his anger barely under control. ‘Twas true that the lass had not come of her own free will, but she had certainly returned his kisses of her own free will.

Or had she? Had that been part of her masquerade as well?

Lachlan looked tired, but he had been on patrol for more than two days. Rory had left several men to guard important passes, but their possession of the Campbell heir gave them a weapon they’d not had before. He would still be careful, still maintain patrols, but he doubted there would be an all-out onslaught now.

His immediate objective was Jan … Felicia. He wondered whether he could ever stop thinking of her as Janet.

To blazes with the woman. She was just another lass, and a Campbell one at that.

He took the stone steps two at a time and went into her chamber without knocking, and he glanced around in the morning light. Several lumps in the bed drew his attention.

He breathed easier. She was here. He was startled at how relieved he was.

Because he wanted to vent his anger? His bewilderment?

Or because for a moment he feared he would not see her again?

He erased the last thought from his mind.

He leaned over and pulled back the heavy covering, only to see her gown and petticoat bunched up to look like a sleeping figure. His breath caught in his throat, and his chest constricted.

Until this very moment, part of him had disbelieved the prisoner. Part of him had hoped … he hadn’t even realized it until this very moment, but the thought had been there.

Had she left the keep? If so was she on foot somewhere in the hills? Fear replaced outrage. There were wolves and wild hogs, along with other dangerous predators.

He went to the chamber next door. His entrance woke Alina. Sleepy eyes regarded him solemnly.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Much better,” she said primly.

“Do you know where Lady Janet is?”

“Nay, but she was here last night. She is an angel.”

An angel indeed.

“Was she here after dark?”

“Aye, my lord.”

Then she would not have had a chance to leave. The gates were closed at nightfall, and he doubted whether anyone would have left before he arrived this morning.

He went back into her room. Where could a lass hide? And what would she be wearing?

He glanced around again and something on the floor caught his glance. He stooped down and ran his finger along the rug. Then he saw a red hair. Then another. He got down and looked under the bed. Piles of curling copper colored hair had been shoved under the bed.

Rory knew now how she’d expected to leave. The only question was whether she had been able to get outside the keep. He doubted it, especially since he had just given orders that no one was to leave.

Had she watched him ride in with her cousin? Is that why she disappeared? Or had she planned it all along?

Had she planned it when she returned his kisses? When she had melted into his arms?

He picked up a metal cup from the table and threw it against the fireplace. He stood, stunned by his own violence. He had never thrown anything before, not even in his worst moments. He believed in self-discipline.

But he had not practiced it these past days. He’d sworn not to love again, not to care in a way that sudden loss would rip the guts from him. He had been successful for nearly eight years, and now …

And now the devil was having his joke. He had lowered his guard, had allowed a copper-haired lass into his heart. And not any lass, but a member of the clan that had cursed his family.

No bride of a Maclean will live long or happily, and every Maclean will suffer for it.

Two women he’d loved had died. How could he possibly have forgotten that?

I do not believe in the curse.

Maybe not the curse, but he did believe in fate.

Let her go.

But he couldn’t. Not until he knew why she hadn’t wanted to go home. Not until he knew she would be safe.

Her cousin was a different matter.

He turned toward the door, and stopped.

A young lad stood there. His cheeks were smudged, but nothing could hide the great blue eyes.

They looked frightened.

Defiant.

Angry.

His heart beat faster.

She looked like a warrior. It was obvious she knew he held her cousin. An unexpected jab of agony struck him as he realized she had returned to protect James Campbell, not for him.

*Chapter 15*

“Lady Felicia Campbell?”

She saw no advantage in denying it. “Aye.”

When she had first encountered Rory Maclean, Felicia thought he had the coldest eyes she’d ever seen. She could not imagine colder ones.

But she had been wrong. She saw them now.

She shivered inside, though she tried not to show it. She had been right to want to run. He hated her now that he knew she was a Campbell.

He knew
! And he was looking at her as if she were a particularly unpleasant insect.

When she had heard Jamie’s name mentioned in the bailey, she knew she could not leave, even if the gates had not been closed. She had no doubt that he had come to his enemy’s land to save her, and now she could not leave him, even if it meant facing Rory.

But how could she rescue Jamie? She had precious little to bargain with.

Instinctively, she felt that both she and Jamie would fare far better with honesty than attempted bravado or foolish acts. And so she had steeled her nerve and decided to offer anything to save her cousin who had risked everything for her.

From the Maclean’s expression, she had nothing he wanted.

“You cut your hair,” he said, surprising her with his cool, indifferent scrutiny.

“Aye.”

His gray gaze bored into her. “Why did you no’ leave when you had a chance?”

She hesitated. “The Camerons would have sent me back to Dunstaffnage.” She saw in his icy eyes that she, as a person, had ceased to exist for him. Because she had lied to him? Or solely because she was a Campbell? Either way, a gaping hole yawned inside her. How had he become so important to her? So quickly? Why did she care what he thought of her?

“Why were you with the Cameron escort?” he persisted.

“I thought I could travel with them as Janet until I could escape them.”

“Why?” he asked again.

She lifted her head and met his gaze directly. “My uncle had sent for me. He had arranged a marriage.” She did not add it was at the king’s order.

Nothing flickered in his expression as he continued to study her, obviously for more lies. It was all she could do to keep her hands steady and stand tall and resolute.

“It was not to your liking?” he asked after a moment’s silence.

“Nay.” She could not still the shudder that took her body.

“The bridegroom?”

“The Earl of Morneith.”

She saw the comers of his mouth turn downward as if he knew the name, or the man, and did not like it. She also noticed his body tensed. She looked down at his hands and saw the fingers of his right one clenched into a fist. His gaze followed hers. He straightened out his fingers and flexed them, as if he had just become aware of what he had been doing.

“You were going to the Camerons for help?”

“Nay, I hoped to lose them in the fog. And I did. But then your men …”

He frowned. “Where were you going?”

“I hoped to find my cousin in London. I thought he could help me.”

“James Campbell?”

“Aye.”

“He would disobey his father for you?” His voice was suddenly harsh, his eyes even colder, if that were indeed possible.

She was silent for a moment, surprised at the barely suppressed anger in his voice.

He turned away from her then and went to the window and stared out toward the Sound of Mull. Then he turned back to her. “You had already cut your hair when I returned, before you knew we had James Campbell.”

She was silent.

“You were going to leave without telling me?”

“I thought—” She stopped suddenly.

“You thought what?”

“That it would be best for everyone, that when you discovered who I was, you would want me gone.”

“Where were you going?”

“Back to Dunstaffnage. I thought I could reach it before an escort came for me.” She was amazed that her voice sounded steady.

“Did you think I would misuse you if I discovered you were a Campbell?”

“At first, I did not know,” she said. “I had only heard tales of the Macleans.” She hesitated, then added, “They were not stories to inspire trust that you possessed a… sympathetic nature.”

He raised an eyebrow. “At first?”

She wished she could take back that slip of her tongue. But she was not going to explain it. She was not going to tell him that fear had changed into something else altogether, and that it was not fear of physical safety that had prompted her to try to flee. It was fear of the very look that was on his face now.

“From the pot into the fire, my lady,” he said. “Did you not consider the risks when you left Dunstaffnage?”

“Such as being abducted by the Macleans?” she said with a tart edge to her voice. “Nay, I must admit I did not.”

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “A most unpleasant surprise, I assume.”

“Aye,” she said defiantly.

“You are a very good liar.”

“You never asked if I was Janet Cameron,” she countered. “You assumed so.”

“What else did I assume wrongly?” he asked, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

A muscle throbbed in his cheek, and she felt a throbbing of her own deep in the most private part of herself, a throbbing that had become a part of her only in the past few days.

“I do not know what you mean.” But she did. He meant the kisses they had exchanged, kisses she still held in her heart. She did not want to, but she knew it would take more than harsh words to dislodge them.

He touched her cheek. Her feelings were magnified, the longing intensified. There was a searching in the touch, a question she couldn’t answer.

His head lowered, and his lips captured hers, hard and demanding. There was nothing gentle this time. No searching. No asking. He meant it as punishing.

Still, she responded in kind. Her body needed no urging as he pulled her into his arms. The embers that had glowed between them flared, enveloping them in a circle of fire and need.

For a moment, she lost herself in his arms, in the feel of his lips against hers. The yearning deepened as her body pressed into his.

Then he wrenched away from her, turning again to the window, leaving her to stand alone. Her body ached from wanting, from the burning sensations his nearness aroused in her.

“What would you do to save him?” he asked suddenly.

Her thoughts and body still occupied with what had just happened, it took her a moment to understand what he was saying. Then she understood, just as she remembered why she had returned to this chamber. To beg, to bargain for her cousin’s life.

“Anything,” she whispered, startled, then horrified at the change in conversation, at the sudden implication of what he was saying … of what she was admitting. How could she have forgotten Jamie even for a moment? Especially in the arms of the man who held his life in balance?

“Anything?” he repeated, and she did not quite understand the sudden bleakness in those gray eyes.

“Aye. He must have come to look for me. It is my fault he … that you …” She looked up at him. “Let him go. Keep me. I will do anything you wish.”

“Such devotion,” he said. “But not a very good bargain for me. Jamie Campbell is a valuable hostage.”