“I did not come for absolution,” he said tightly.
“Then why did you come?” All of a sudden it dawned on her. Me. He’s come for me. She scoffed with outrage. “You can’t honestly think I want anything to do with you?” His eyes flared at her tone, but she did not heed the warning. “I despise you. When I see you, I will always see a Campbell. The clan responsible for the death of my family. Nothing you say will ever change that.”
His face was drawn in taut lines, and anger radiated from him. His vaunted control was wavering.
“You want to hate me.” He put his hand on her throat, covering the frantic pulse at her neck, and she froze. “But you don’t hate me at all, Caitrina.” He lowered his head, and she could smell the warm spice of his breath. His hair spilled forward on her cheek, silky and warm from the sun. Her breath hitched and her heart raced wildly in her chest. “Even now you want me,” he drawled, sliding his finger down her neck to the swell of her breast, singeing a path of heated sensation in his wake. Her nipples hardened in anticipation of his touch, throbbing when he dropped his hand. “The fire coursing through your veins right now is for me,” he whispered in her ear. “And only for me. No one else will ever make you feel like this. Try to deny what is between us.”
Her body was shaking; she was excruciatingly aware of every inch of his powerful body, so close to hers. She shook her head, holding on so tight that she dared not try to speak.
“Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you.” He lowered his mouth to hers until only a hairbreadth separated them. Her heart pounded in her ears. She couldn’t breathe. Every nerve ending flared. The wind whipped across her face, but all she could think about was the silky texture of his lips and how he’d tasted on her tongue.
“I don’t want you to kiss me,” she managed, her voice wobbling.
“Liar,” he growled, then murmured something about her being damn stubborn before his mouth fell on hers.
It was as if something exploded inside her. All the emotions she’d fought so hard to contain broke free. His kiss was everything she remembered. Hot, wet, and demanding as his mouth moved over hers with swift possession. The taste of him was like the darkest, richest wine, pouring into her soul until she was drunk with pleasure.
She sank against him, surrendering her breath, her mouth, her body, in one heart-stopping moment. She couldn’t deny this if she wanted to.
His finger caressed her jaw in soft entreaty. She opened willingly, taking him deep in her mouth, savoring the erotic sensation of his tongue sliding against hers. He stroked deeper and deeper, as if he couldn’t get enough of her.
She kissed him back, twining her tongue with his, meeting him stroke for stroke. He groaned, pulling her snugly against him, letting her feel every hard inch of his powerful body. Her body flushed with heat where they touched. God, he was magnificent. She wanted to touch his bare skin, to run her hands over the thick, bulging muscles of his arms and chest to feel his strength under her fingertips. She molded to him, melting into his heat. She wanted the comfort that only he could bring. To feed the starving emptiness in her soul.
His kiss turned a little rougher and more insistent. He opened her mouth wider, so he could sink deeper. The rough stubble of his chin scraped her skin as his tongue thrust faster and faster in a wickedly sensual beat. It was wet and hot, and deliciously erotic. The licking. The stroking. The fire.
Desire flooded her body, the memories of how he’d touched her making her pulse with anticipation. Heat rushed between her legs; she pressed against him, seeking friction, and felt his heavy erection straining against her.
For a moment, she tensed. The memory of the soldier hovering over her flashed before her eyes, but she pushed it away. Jamie would never hurt her. She knew it with a certainty that shocked her. Lust would never control him.
But would it control her?
It was as if she’d been doused by a bucket of icy seawater. She was passionately kissing a man in broad daylight—and not just any man, but her enemy.
A sick feeling curdled in her stomach. How could she betray her family like this? For a moment in his arms, she’d forgotten all that stood between them. She pushed against his chest, freeing herself from his embrace. Without thinking, she pulled her hand back and brought her open palm as hard as she could against his face.
The slap rang out as loud as a musket shot.
His face had barely flinched from the blow, but the imprint of her hand showed stark crimson on his cheek.
She covered her mouth with her hand, stunned by the violence of her actions, knowing that it had been as much a reaction against her own response as it had beeen to him.
What power did this man have over her?
Her breath came hard between her lips as she fought for control, fought to quiet the powerful yearnings still firing inside her. She looked into his eyes and the intensity there shook her to her core. His gray blue eyes bored into her, as if he could see right inside her—to her deepest secrets.
“You’ve made your point,” she said hoarsely, her breath ragged. “I hate you, but my body lusts for you. If it was your intention to humiliate me, you’ve succeeded.”
His face was a mask of cold implacability. Looking at him, you would never guess that such passion existed under his steely reserve—but she’d felt it. Moments ago, he’d been kissing her with more emotion than she’d dreamed possible. As if he wanted her more than anything in the entire world. As if she mattered.
“I assure you,” he said evenly, “humiliating you was the furthest thing from my mind.”
The possessive way he looked at her told her exactly what he’d had in mind. He wanted her, and the worst part was that she wanted him right back.
For a moment, her defenses fell and she gave him a pleading look. “Please, just leave me alone to find what peace I can.”
He shook his head. “We both know that is impossible.” And because she feared he was right, she ran.
Chapter 10
She raced away from him as if the devil were nipping at her heels. In a way, Jamie supposed he was. But she would never be able to outrun what burned between them.
He let her go—this time.
He shouldn’t have kissed her. It was too soon. For months she’d blamed him for the death of her family; he should have given her time to accept what he’d told her.
He stared after her, unable to turn away. Though changed, her beauty was still magnetic. She moved with natural agility and grace as she scrambled up the pathway to the castle, hair streaming behind her head like a silky black veil.
The old plaid she wore had come loose, and she’d gathered it up in her arms. He felt a pang of regret. The plain sark and kirtle she wore was a stark contrast to the fine gowns he was used to seeing her in. The things that had once given her pleasure were barely spared a thought.
Princess, he’d called her then. Now, the comparison seemed cruel.
She’d changed, and not just in her choice of adornment. No, the changes went far deeper. Where there had once been naïveté and innocence, there was now wariness and sorrow—but also a hard glint in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.
One thing, however, hadn’t changed. She still possessed an uncanny ability to make him lose control. The harder she tried to push him away, the more he wanted to force her to acknowledge what was between them. It seemed the only thing she couldn’t deny was her passion.
She thought it was lust. But lust was a simple emotion, and there was nothing simple about the blistering attraction and steely connection that seemed to bind them together.
He whistled for his mount, and the powerful black stallion clopped quickly to his side. After gathering the reins in his hand, he started toward the keep, troubled by how much she’d changed.
Hell, he’d never wanted to see her brought so low, he’d only wanted her to understand that the world was more complicated than she thought. He hadn’t wanted her to suffer like this or see such brutality.
&nb
sp; If he hadn’t been so damn angry by her refusal, he might have been able to protect her. But pride stung, he’d kept his intentions to himself. If he’d told his cousin or brother Colin of his plan to marry her, her family might have been spared. She might have been spared.
He would never be able to give her back the family she’d lost, but he would do what he could to make things right.
He gazed up at the keep as he drew closer, remembering her parting words. A less determined man might do as she asked. But Jamie couldn’t walk away and leave her as she wanted. Caitrina Lamont had gotten under his skin in a way no woman had before. Even though she’d been through hell and back, she was still fiery, passionate, stubborn, and proud. What he’d once dismissed as spoiled had reflected strength of character that ran much deeper. She was unlike any other woman he’d ever known.
She belonged to him, and he would not—could not—let her go.
Caitrina’s heart was still pounding as she entered the dark stone staircase of the old keep and wound her way up to the small chamber that had been set aside for her in the garret.
It was no more than a servant’s room, but for her it was perfect. The low, sharply angled ceiling of the small space made her feel safe. And because the chamber was at the very top of the tower, too high to climb, there was a large window for her to look out of onto the Clyde. Her uncle had offered her a more sizable room below to share with her two young cousins, but Caitrina preferred the solitude and quiet—the girls, though sweet, were but twelve and fourteen and prone to chatter. Like Brian. The memories were too painful.
She crossed the small corridor outside her chamber in a few steps, pulled open the door and quickly slammed it closed behind her, as if he might be following her. But a tiny voice at the back of her head warned her that if Jamie Campbell wanted her, a simple wood plank door wouldn’t stand in his way. She shivered. Nothing would stand in his way.
Resting her back against the door, she closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath, waiting for the hard rise and fall of her chest to slow.
Caitrina had thought that she’d put what had happened between them and her irrational attraction to Jamie behind her. His involvement—or that of his clan—in the attack on her family had erected an insurmountable wall between them. Or at least it should have, but he’d toppled it with words that made her question what she thought she knew.
She still wanted him. As much as she wanted to deny it, her passionate response to his kiss told otherwise. The weakness put her to shame. He should be the last man she was attracted to. If only it were as simple as physical attraction, but she feared something more complicated. She couldn’t seem to think straight when he was near.
Her emotions were in turmoil with all he’d told her, but two things rang true: He had carried her from the burning building—she remembered the feeling of safety and security when he’d held her in his arms—and her father had harbored the MacGregors.
She’d known her father was sympathetic to their plight—as many in the Highlands were—but Caitrina still couldn’t believe that he’d taken such a risk in sheltering the outlaws. Though she supposed, given the honorable and proud Highland chief that her father was, he would have felt compelled to shelter the MacGregors no matter what the risk. What really stung was that she’d known nothing about it. She had been kept in the dark. Ignorance had left her unprepared for heartbreak; she vowed never to be like that again.
In hindsight, she realized there had been warning signs, particularly with respect to Jamie Campbell. It was clear that her father had urged her to accept Jamie’s suit knowing that they might be in need of his protection.
Guilt twisted inside her. Would things have been different had she heeded his request? Would Jamie have protected them?
Caitrina didn’t know what to think, but one thing was certain: She needed to shore up her defenses against Jamie to withstand further attack. She might have gotten rid of him this time, but she knew he’d be back.
She needed to put herself out of his reach forever—which meant speeding up her search for a husband. Today, after the midday meal, she would speak with her uncle.
Her eyes flew open in alarm.
Midday meal. She glanced out the window at the sun on the horizon and muttered a curse.
She was late.
It took her only a few minutes to change her kirtle, splash some water on her face, and tug a comb through her hair before she was on her way back down the stairs. She exited the keep and hurried across the courtyard to the separate building that housed the new hall and kitchens. The great hall with its specially constructed fireplace had been hastily built over forty years ago, when Queen Mary had visited Toward Castle. To this day, the arched gateway between the chapel and guardhouse was called “Queen Mary’s Gate.”
She could hear the boisterous sounds of revelry as she drew near and felt a pang of guilt. With all that her uncle and aunt had done for her, Caitrina knew she should make a better effort to repay their kindness. Forcing a smile to her lips, she took a deep breath and walked into the great hall.
For a moment, the sounds of merrymaking and the pipes, the warm smell of peat, and the vivid panoply of color from the colorfully dressed clansmen filled her with a painful longing. It was so reminiscent of Ascog, she had to pause to collect herself.
Her eyes scanned the room, sliding over the sea of unfamiliar faces. Except for the dais, where her uncle sat with her aunt, cousins, and …
She stiffened with shock.
Only Jamie Campbell would be bold enough to enter the enemy’s lair after what had happened at Ascog. She should have expected something like this. He’d certainly wasted no time.
But what she didn’t understand was why her uncle would receive him. The Lamonts of Toward hated Campbells as much as their Ascog kin—if not more so. The fact that her uncle would sit at the same table with Argyll’s Henchman after all that had happened made her prickle with alarm.
Something did not bode well.
Jamie read her shock when she entered the hall and noticed him sitting at the dais beside her aunt.
He stilled, seeing her hesitate at the entry as she decided whether to come in or turn around. Had she changed more than he’d realized?
Only a few seconds elapsed before she straightened her spine and started purposefully across the hall—not sparing him another glance. Jamie relaxed his hand, not realizing he’d been gripping his goblet so hard. No, she was still the passionate girl who would not back down from a challenge. But as she drew closer, he could see the wariness in her eyes—wariness that pricked.
He took a long drink of cuirm, knowing that she was right to be worried.
There was an empty space on the bench beside him; he wasn’t surprised, however, when she took a seat at the opposite end of the long wooden table—as far from him as was possible.
He was left to converse with her aunt Margaret on his right and her cousin John, Lamont’s tanaiste, on his right. Both were aware of his purpose in coming to Toward. Though Margaret Lamont did her duty as hostess without fault, he detected disapproval in her manner. Her son was less subtle. John, a hulking, battle-scarred warrior of perhaps thirty years, didn’t bother to hide his hostility, speaking in grunts and monosyllables and looking as if he’d like nothing more than to slip a dirk between Jamie’s ribs.
It wasn’t the first time Jamie had experienced stilted and awkward conversation over a meal. Though perhaps he was more anxious by what was to come than he wanted to allow, because it seemed to drag interminably.
Finally, the Lamont of Toward rose. It was time. “Niece”—he turned to Caitrina—“would you join us in the laird’s solar.”
Caitrina glanced in Jamie’s direction, as if she might refuse. He kept his expression implacable. She stood, following her uncle’s lead, her smile dutiful, albeit forced. “Of course, Uncle.”
Jamie, Caitrina, Margaret Lamont, and John followed the chief into the small antechamber off the great hall. Under normal
circumstances, the Lamont’s luchd-taighe guardsmen would join them as well, but Jamie had requested privacy, knowing that Caitrina was going to feel cornered as it was.
It will be for the best. He didn’t shy from doing what it took to achieve his purposes, but that didn’t prevent the twinge of disquiet.
The room was small and dark, large enough to hold a table and benches and not much else. A woven rug of blues and greens was strewn across the wood floor. The paneled walls were unadorned with paint or plaster—or windows. Indeed, except for a few sconces, the only decoration was a large silk banner embroidered with the badge of Lamont hung on the wall opposite the door. A simply constructed bookcase held what looked to be mostly the household account books. The simplicity of the room was odd in comparison with the richly appointed great hall that adjoined it, but this room seemed to fit the Lamont.
Tall and sparse, with a ruddy complexion and a shock of reddish grayed hair that managed always to look windblown, the Lamont of Toward was a quiet man of few words. In temperament, Jamie had always thought him more suited for the kirk than the battlefield. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the dangerous John Lamont—unlike the Lamont’s warmonger son.
Jamie took the proffered seat beside the chief and noticed how John and Margaret Lamont had taken the seats on each side of Caitrina, as if trying to protect her. It wouldn’t do any good.
“Undoubtedly, you are wondering why I’ve asked you here,” the Lamont chief said to Caitrina.
“Actually, I’m wondering what he is doing here,” Caitrina replied. Her gaze fixed on Jamie. “I thought I made myself very clear earlier. I have nothing more to say to you.”
The Campbell Trilogy Page 13