“The dancing will begin soon,” the Lamont said. “Although not the court dances that you are used to at Inveraray or Dunoon.”
Jamie didn’t take the bait. He knew the Highland dances as well as anyone in this room. He realized that there was more behind this subtle dig when Caitrina frowned. “But those are the strongholds of Argyll.”
Apparently, she knew he was a Campbell—but not which one. He held her gaze. “The earl is my cousin.”
“James Campbell …,” she murmured. He could see the moment she put it together. Her eyes widened and she blurted: “You’re Argyll’s Henchman.”
“Caitrina!” her father reprimanded sternly.
Jamie lifted his hand, holding him off. “There’s no need. The moniker is common enough.” He gave the horror-struck lass a hard look. “I am the captain of the Earl of Argyll’s guardsmen. If by ‘henchman’ you mean that I enforce the law and see to it that justice is done, then yes.” He used physical force only when necessary. His usual method of enforcing was persuasion, and when that didn’t work …
well, Highlanders were a stubborn lot, and sometimes the traditional method of solving disputes was the only way.
Caitrina blanched. “I see.”
But of course she didn’t. Her reaction bothered him more than he wanted to acknowledge. He was used to hatred and fear—his reputation had its uses—but never before had he wanted to explain and make someone understand. To make her see that envy and ignorance were behind the exaggerated rumors.
Why the opinion of this wisp of a girl mattered, he didn’t know. But it did.
Chapter 4
In a fitting tribute to the opening of the games, the next day dawned bright and clear, but Caitrina was still mired in the fog of the revelations of the night before.
Jamie Campbell. The Highland Enforcer. The Scourge of the Highlands. The Campbell Henchman. By whatever name, he was the most feared man in the Highlands—more feared, perhaps, than even his cousin. Argyll did not dirty his hands with warfare, but plenty of blood had been shed by the hands of his henchman.
And she’d kissed him.
Her father and brothers rarely discussed feuds or Highland politics with her—subjects that usually didn’t interest her—but for once she wished they didn’t stop talking when she entered the room. Occasionally she would hear things from the servants, and she’d heard of Argyll’s fearsome cousin. ’Twas said Jamie Campbell had never been defeated in battle. That he was ruthless in his pursuit of any who opposed him. That any man who got in his way was a dead one. That he had more power than the king in the Highlands because he had the ear of “King Campbell”—the Earl of Argyll.
Yet he was nothing like the monster she’d expected; he seemed so … civilized. Not a ruthless, bloodthirsty ogre, but a man who looked as though he would be just as commanding at court as he was on a battlefield. His calm authority seemed at odds with his merciless reputation. Though she did not doubt that he was a formidable warrior—his physical stature alone was proof enough of that—there was far more to him than brawn.
Yet admittedly, as she’d sensed from the first, there was something hard—almost ruthless—about him. She’d never met a man who was so controlled, who never gave a hint of what he was thinking.
More than once throughout the evening, she’d felt his unwavering gaze on her—cool, steady, and utterly unreadable. She, on the other hand, was a mass of nerves. Ignoring him had proved impossible; she was aware of every move he made. They might as well have been tied together, so deeply did she feel it.
He flustered her. She would like to dismiss it as fear, but the truth was far more unsettling: She was attracted to the vile brute. He was handsome enough to make her breath catch. Of all the men in the Highlands to be attracted to, it had to be a Campbell. There was irony there, but she was too disturbed to see it. She didn’t know what to do about it, except try to avoid him as much as she could.
Caitrina spent the morning busy attending to her duties as hostess, but after the midday meal she welcomed the chance to escape to the stables for a while before the games resumed for the afternoon. It was cool, and the pungent, earthy smells were oddly calming. She dragged a bench from one of the stalls to sit on and picked up the kitten that had caused so many problems yesterday.
Caitrina sighed contentedly and stroked its soft fur while the cat purred and nuzzled against her hand, savoring the moment of peace. Usually she would sit by the loch, but with so many people about for the games, the stables were about the only place she could find some solitude.
Or so she’d thought.
“Here you are.”
She stifled a groan, turning to find Torquil MacNeil, one of her more persistent suitors, beside her. If she were inclined to pick a man by the appeal of his countenance, the young laird would be the perfect choice. He was tall and lean, with dark blond hair and brilliant green eyes. Not much older than she, he’d already made a name for himself as a skilled warrior. She could do worse, if she were looking for a husband.
Remembering her duty as hostess, she forced a smile to her face. “Did you want something, my laird?”
His eyes slid over her. There was nothing overtly threatening in the movement, but it made her uncomfortable nonetheless. It wasn’t admiration she detected in his gaze, but possession.
“I wished to speak with you. It was so crowded and noisy last night at the feast, I did not have the opportunity.”
Caitrina put down the kitten, stood up, and shook out her skirts. She didn’t like the way of this conversation. She took pains to make sure private opportunities like this did not arise—it was easier that way. Half the men she rejected didn’t even realize it. But she sensed that MacNeil would not be so easily put off. There was a streak of youthful arrogance in him that promised stubbornness.
“I intend to speak to your father,” he said as if he were dangling a meaty bone to a dog.
Caitrina feigned obtuseness—one of her favorite ploys. “Of course. I shall take you to him.”
He grabbed her arm and swung her back toward him. “Don’t you want to know what about?”
One by one, she carefully pried his fingers from her arm and then smiled. “Oh, I haven’t the faintest interest in the talk of men.”
“You’ll be interested in this,” he proclaimed, looking her over once more. “You’re beautiful, but not too small around the hips—which is good. We will make fine braw sons.” Drawing up his chest, he expounded with the confidence of a king, “I’ve decided to make you my wife.”
Caitrina gritted her teeth and bit back a sarcastic retort. There was nothing as romantic as being compared to a beautiful brood mare. “You are too kind,” she said sweetly. “It is an honor indeed to be considered for such an illustrious position. But you speak precipitously. We barely know each other.”
He took a step closer. “There is time enough for that when we are married.”
Caitrina swallowed. As she’d suspected, this would not be easy. She needed to think of something … fast. “I hardly know what kind of man you are,” she said, and then hesitated, an idea forming. “And you are still so young.”
He bristled. “I’m man enough for you, my sweet.” He pulled her closer. “Care for me to prove it?”
There it was. Her way out. “What a brilliant suggestion! Prove to me that you can protect me as a husband ought by winning the archery challenge at the end of the week and we will discuss this marriage further.”
He had no chance. Rory MacLeod was the best archer in the Highlands. The MacLeod chief had won for ten years straight—challenged only once two years ago by Alasdair MacGregor on one of the rare occasions when the outlaw made an appearance at the games.
MacNeil looked momentarily confused, but she could see the moment he realized what he’d done. How his arrogance had been twisted against him. His expression shifted from cocksure to enraged. She’d tricked him, and he knew it.
Eyes blazing, he bowed stiffly. “Until the end of the c
ontest, then”—he gave her a calculated look that was just short of menacing—“when I shall come to claim my prize.”
She watched him storm away, feeling a prickle of discomfort. Discomfort that only worsened a few moments later.
“Morning, Princess.”
Caitrina startled, recognizing that deep, husky tone immediately. The man could melt a frozen loch with the heat of that sultry voice. So much for avoiding him. She looked over to see Jamie Campbell standing in the doorway, holding the reins of his horse.
Princess indeed. “It’s well past morning, and don’t call me Princess.” He grinned, and Caitrina berated herself for letting him bother her. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Don’t you have something better to do than spy on me? Frighten a few helpless old women or children, perhaps—”
He led his destrier inside a stall, gave instructions to one of the stable lads, and strode toward her. Her insides seemed to toss about like a rudderless birlinn in a storm as he neared. He might be a devil, but he had the face of an archangel. Handsome enough to make her wish he weren’t a Campbell. The intense slate blue eyes, the aquiline nose, the hard sculpted cheekbones and wide mouth above a strong square jaw. She couldn’t seem to look away, drawn to his dark masculinity in a way that she could not explain. Except that it resonated, she felt it in every inch, every pore, of her body. His size, his expression, his fearsome reputation, should urge danger. But it wasn’t fear that set off bells of alarm—it was the intensity of her reaction to him. Unconsciously she took a step back.
“Spying wasn’t necessary,” he said, pointing to the open shutters opposite the door where hay for the horses was tossed in. He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Your ability to rid yourself of a suitor is to be commended, but your delivery lacks finesse. Have care for the pride of a young man, my sweet. From the look on that one’s face, his was badly bruised and he’ll not soon forget it.”
“I don’t recall asking for your advice,” she said with an angry toss of her chin. It was none of his blasted business.
The infuriating beast only laughed. “You shall have it all the same. It’s about time someone around here spoke the truth.”
The hair at the back of her neck rose in full affront. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Not all men will be led around by their—” He stopped. “Not all men will bow to your bidding.”
“Like you, for one?” she said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.
He moved a little closer. Close enough for her to smell the sun and sweat from his ride. The primitive scent was oddly arousing, swarming her senses with wicked yearnings. He stood so close, she could see the dark stubble that shadowed the hard lines of his jaw. She remembered how it had felt rubbing against the tender skin of her cheek when he’d kissed her, and something fluttered low in her belly.
“Aye, like me,” he said huskily, almost as if he knew what she was thinking.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She turned away, not wanting him to see how deeply he rattled her. When he didn’t leave as she hoped, she asked, “Why were you out riding? I thought you were taking part in the games.”
“I hadn’t decided, but now that I’ve heard the prize to be won, I think I shall enter the archery contest.”
It took her a moment to realize what he meant. Her eyes flew to his face, thinking he was jesting, but his expression was implacable. “You can’t be serious.” He couldn’t intend to court her.
His eyes met hers, and the intensity shook her to her toes. “And what if I am?”
She ignored the sudden race of her heart. Despite her confounding attraction to him, the idea of marrying a Campbell, let alone this Campbell, was so far-fetched that she didn’t know how to respond. The misery of her mother cast out from her clan was never far from her mind. She’d avoid that fate at all costs. “You’re wasting your time.” She tried to breeze by him, but he blocked her path. Her shoulder collided with the steely shield of his chest, and she sucked in her breath at the shock of physical awareness. The strange sensations he’d wrought in her yesterday came flooding back: the warmth, the fluttering in her stomach, the race of her heart, the prickle of awareness that chilled her skin.
“Am I?” he said in a low voice, and the warmth of his breath tickled her ear, making her shudder. “You didn’t seem to think so yesterday.”
Caitrina flushed. How dare he bring up that kiss! The kiss she couldn’t forget when he was standing so close to her, his powerful body radiating heat that seemed to entrap her. “You had no right to kiss me.” She dared not look up. He was standing too close. She felt this strange pull … as though someone were sliding the floor mat out from beneath her feet. As though she wanted him to kiss her again. She could turn her head and feel his mouth on her cheek, sliding along her jaw, on her lips …
Her heart thumped wildly, and she felt as if she were drowning in something more powerful than she could control.
But she couldn’t forget who he was.
She forced her eyes to his and said with all sincerity, “I’d sooner marry a toad than a Campbell.”
Jamie might just make her eat those words. He could lean down, cover her lips with his, and kiss her until he proved her wrong. And God, he was tempted.
He’d had no intention of actually finding a wife when he came here, but taming this brazen girl with her strange mix of haughtiness and innocence might damn well be worth it. It was rare that he met a woman he didn’t have to tiptoe around for fear of overwhelming or intimidating her. He smiled. Nay, Caitrina Lamont was decidedly not intimidated by him.
He was returning from meeting with his men, who’d scoured the caves in the hills beyond but had found nothing, when he’d overheard the conversation between Caitrina and Torquil MacNeil. She was clever, he’d give her that. As she’d proved many times over last night, she had an uncanny way of ridding herself of suitors—but there was a dangerous naïveté to her boldness. And one day it was going to land her in a heap of trouble.
The lass seemed to have every available man within a hundred miles under her spell. Even now, with her hair tumbling freely around her shoulders, straw on her ridiculously fine skirts for sitting in a barn, and looking adorably mussed, her allure was undeniable. For all her pristine beauty, there was an unmistakable air of sexual promise that surrounded her, hinting at far more earthy delights. A rose waiting to be plucked.
He wanted her with an intensity that defied reason. He wanted her in a primal way that he’d never felt before with any woman. And when Jamie wanted something, he got it.
Yet she seemed entirely unaware of what a temptation she presented or how close he was to tossing her down in the hay and kissing her senseless. His blood heated at the thought of her under him, his hands stroking her soft skin, his mouth …
Disgusted, he fought back the haze of lust. He was a man of prodigious control when it came to keeping his desire in check, but never had he met a lass who so aroused such primitive impulses in him. Or, for that matter, one who could provoke him so easily by casting her careless aspersions on his clan.
He stood back and crossed his arms. “So it’s my name that bothers you?”
“Isn’t it enough? Our clans are enemies, and have been for decades.”
“What better way to end a feud? Besides, your mother was a Campbell.”
She flushed with anger. “And she was disowned by her Campbell father, the Laird of Cawdor. I have no familial love for the Campbells, and your cousin is the worst of the bad lot.”
“For someone so obviously disinterested in politics, you certainly seem to have strong opinions.”
“Everyone knows that Argyll is a despot who steals land and then, when the clansmen are broken with nowhere left to go, hunts them like dogs.”
“I assume you are referring to the MacGregors?” Jamie said idly, feeling anything but. What did she know of the MacGregors? Of the massacre of the Colquhouns at the battle of Glenfruin? Of the countless Campbells who’d been victims
of their reiving and pillaging? He cupped her chin, running his thumb over the frantic pulse in her neck. “The MacGregors are brigands and outlaws who would slit your pretty neck without a second thought. Remember that when you condemn my cousin.”
Her eyes widened with alarm. “You’re just trying to frighten me. You forget the MacGregors are allies of the Lamonts.”
He hadn’t forgotten that at all. In fact, it’s what had brought him here. “I suggest you choose your friends more wisely.”
She pursed her mouth defiantly. “If they’re outlaws, it’s because they have no other choice, since Campbells have taken their land. And you make them sound worse than they are. It’s what Argyll wants people to believe to justify his actions.”
Jamie fought to keep his temper in check, knowing that she spoke out of ignorance and didn’t understand the complexity of the issues facing the Highlands or the centuries-long dispute between the MacGregors and the Campbells over lands—lands to which the MacGregors had no legal claim. But he felt a strange urge to explain. “My cousin seeks to put an end to the lawlessness that has plagued the Highlands and protect the innocent, and believe me, the MacGregors are not innocent. Do not romanticize their plight; they are not the Robin Hood and Merry Men of legend. Nor have they been blameless in what has happened to them.”
She wrenched free, breathing hard, eyes flashing. “So they deserve to be hunted and butchered?”
His gaze hardened. “They deserve to be brought to justice for their considerable crimes.”
Her voice dripped with mockery. “What about your crimes? Have the Campbells not been accused of similar injustices? Has your cousin not burned people off their land?”
“Unlike the MacGregors, we do not break the law.”
“How convenient, since you are the law.”
His mouth tightened. “I am the man who wants to make it so that you can ride the countryside without fear of attack.”
The Campbell Trilogy Page 5