The Campbell Trilogy (118 page)

Gritting her teeth, Jeannie marched toward them, feeling the strange urge to smash her fist through the nearest window—or his perfect, gleaming white grin. His constant presence was like an itch she couldn’t scratch and her hard-won, even-keeled temperament was starting to suffer.

“I could go with you,” Ella said hopefully. “My father promised to take me hunting next spring if I practiced with my bow.”

Jeannie’s heart caught, hearing the eagerness in her daughter’s voice. Ella missed Francis horribly and in
Duncan she’d found not a replacement, but a man to soothe an ache.

“I can hit the target from twenty paces,” she added, chest puffed out and chin tilted high.

Duncan’s lips quirked and Jeannie knew he was fighting a smile. “Twenty paces? A wee thing like yourself? I know laddies twice your size that can only shoot from ten.”

Ella beamed. “Can I go then? Please …?”

She batted her long, dark lashes at him, a clichéd feminine gesture that surely Duncan would see through. Jeannie glanced in his direction.

Oh God. He’s falling for it.

Duncan looked up and saw her, no doubt reading the horror on her face. He sobered and turned back to Ella. “Perhaps another time, lass.”

“No!” Jeannie exclaimed, panic causing her pulse to race frantically. Delay would only encourage her. “You can’t go hunting, Ella. It’s too dangerous. You could get hurt.”

Ella’s dainty features turned mutinous. “You always say that. Dougall went hunting when he was nine.”

Jeannie bit back the response that Dougall was a boy and that hunting was part of his training, knowing it would only make it all the more tantalizing to her daughter. Besides, Jeannie had always detested that explanation when she was a girl and she’d vowed not to use it upon her daughter. Perhaps that was part of the problem. Ella wanted to do everything her brother did.

“Well, you are only seven. When you are nine we will discuss it.” Seeing the argumentative expression on her daughter’s face, Jeannie took a different tact. “Besides, Duncan will not be able to take you hunting as he will be leaving soon.” She turned to Duncan. “Isn’t that right?”

Duncan held her gaze for a moment then turned back to Ella. “Aye, it’s true, lass.”

“But why?” Ella asked. “Why can’t you stay here? I thought my uncle sent you to protect us from the bad men—”

“Beth,” Jeannie interrupted, startling the young nursemaid out of her besotted stupor. Hearing the edge in her voice, Jeannie tempered her tone and forced a smile on her face. The girl had done nothing wrong. “Why don’t you take Ella down to the kitchens? I believe the cook is going to make some biscuits.” She turned to Ella. “Didn’t you say you wanted to help …”

Her voice fell off as Ella jumped off the table and raced to the stairs, the promise of sweets proving a sufficient distraction. Rarely did one thing hold her daughter’s attention for long. Jeannie hoped she would soon add Duncan to that list.

When Ella and Beth were out of earshot she turned back to Duncan. “You have to leave.”

He eyed her intently, ignoring her admonition. “What ‘bad men’? You mentioned some kind of trouble that first day.”

“It’s nothing,” she dismissed. It was none of his concern.

His gaze hardened. “Humor me.”

She was going to refuse, but he would hear about it soon enough—she was surprised he hadn’t already. She sighed, giving him a much-put-upon glare. “Since Francis died there have been increased cattle raids.” She hesitated, wondering whether to say more.

He frowned, one hand absently playing with the handle of his tankard. But Jeannie knew it was all for show—he was anything but relaxed. He was fixed on her. Tension emanated from him like the tentacles of a sea monster ready to wrap around her. “Go on,” he demanded.

She pursed her lips distastefully. “About a month ago the Mackintoshes attempted to abduct me. I believe my newly widowed state and Dougall’s youth has proved something of a lure for unsavory clansmen intent on bettering their fortunes.”

His hand froze, then gripped the handle of the tankard until his knuckles turned white. “Why have you said nothing about this?”

His voice was deadly calm, but it sent shivers of trepidations whispering up her spine. To all outward appearances he was in complete control. But she knew better. She could read the signs of danger surging just under the surface—the slight flex of muscles, the thinning of his lips, the darkening of blue in his eyes. To her he looked like a man ready to kill.

“Because it’s none of your affair,” she said in her haughtiest tone. She didn’t need him to protect her.

His face darkened. He looked like he was going to challenge her assessment of the matter, but instead he said, “That is why you carried a pistol with you to the loch?”

She nodded. And why she was so quick to pull the trigger.

His eyes never left her face. “It’s why you’ve decided to marry again?”

Her eyes widened. “I’ve made no decisions, why would you think that?”

“My sister mentioned Colin’s suit in her letter.”

He said it matter-of-factly, but there was something in his voice that made her stop. She studied his face, not sure what she was looking for. His mouth tightened and the muscle below his jaw jumped. News of her proposed marriage to Colin bothered him. Her heart pounded. Had the false rumor of her betrothal to his brother finally done what months of tears and prayers could not?

“Is that why you came back, Duncan?” she asked softly.

“As I said, it was time, that is all.”

He lied. Though outwardly nothing gave him away, she could feel it. He was too calm. Too indifferent. Too dismissive.

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 the next week Duncan transformed the castle and its occupants. Jeannie couldn’t believe the changes he’d accomplished in so little time. In addition to personally attending to the training of the guardsmen, he’d organized regular scouting parties, reinforced the sentries, fortified the gates, and ordered the
repair of the
barmkin
wall, which had been allowed to fall into disrepair over the past few years.

After a party of cattle reivers had been met by Duncan and his men at the beginning of the week, the air around the castle had changed. Word had spread that attacks against Aboyne—against Jeannie—would be met with resistance. Lethal resistance.