The Campbell Trilogy

by Monica McCarty

  That was the problem. She’d seen him naked, knew what it felt like to have her hands on all those warm, hard muscles. Knew what it felt like to have all that heat and strength surging inside her body. She missed that connection. She missed him.

  She started to move away when she heard a shout go up followed by the deep shout of Jamie’s voice: “Watch out!”

  Her pulse spiked with panic, and she returned to the window, fearing the worst. But as her gaze shot to the direction of the disturbance, she saw that the situation was already under control. It appeared that two of her young clansmen had been balancing a huge pile of wood planks on either end, but as they’d tried to go up the new stairs, the weight had shifted back on the lower man.

  What could they have been thinking? It was far too much wood for two men to carry. The lad would have fallen, or worse, been crushed by the heavy timber, but Jamie had stepped in to lend a strong arm. A very strong arm. His muscles flexed to bear the brunt of the weight of the shifting wood. Her eyes drifted from his arms down the strong torso and flat stomach to his powerfully muscled legs clad in dust-covered leather breeches.

  She was doing it again. Staring.

  But it wasn’t only physical awareness that drew her. Since their confrontation a few days ago, she’d found herself watching him—nay, studying him. He was like a puzzle that she was trying to figure out … albeit in the dark. He gave no hint to his thoughts, treating her as he always had, with consideration and attentiveness. True to his word, he was giving her time, even spending more time around her in the day. But there was something missing: him in her bed. She longed for those moments of intimacy that they’d shared at night—which was undoubtedly his intention in removing himself.

  How could she long for something she’d known only such a short time?

  It made no sense.

  Or maybe it did. Perhaps she cared for him more than she’d realized. And after observing him these past few days, she’d begun to wonder if maybe it wouldn’t be so wrong.

  She didn’t think even her own father could have managed this much in such little time. Under Jamie’s tutelage and management, the progress in repairing the castle had been nothing short of spectacular.

  His authority had never been in doubt, but she’d come to admire his leadership. He led by example, not by decree, never asking anything of his men that he was not willing to do himself. As in battle, he was out in front, the first man to face the enemy. He drove them hard but worked himself harder, always the first to arrive and the last to leave the castle.

  It was clear Jamie and his men had some experience in construction—not surprising, considering the vast number of castles held by the Campbells—but the depth of his knowledge impressed her. His mind was quick with numbers, measurements, and plans, giving her a glimpse of the cunning and intelligence behind the vaunted warrior. Indeed, his skill as a commander was evidenced by the uncanny way he seemed to be aware of where the men were positioned and what was happening around him. As her father had said, there was much more to Jamie Campbell than physical prowess, and she was certainly seeing proof of it firsthand.

  Her clansmen, unlike the Campbells, had never done work on this scale and Jamie had shown remarkable patience—even when, as now, the mistake could have been costly.

  With her husband’s help, the two young clansmen managed to get the wood to the top of the stairs and stacked it along the side of the far wall of the great hall. Not wanting him to catch her staring, Caitrina turned back to her bucket and tossed the filthy contents outside. Beth and the two other serving girls who’d volunteered to help were watching the incident with more than casual interest, and all of a sudden Caitrina realized why those lads had been carrying so much wood—they’d been well aware of their audience and had sought to impress the young serving girls.

  Jamie had grasped the situation as well and appeared to be giving them a stern lecture from across the hall. Whatever he’d said had worked, because the two shamefaced lads nodded in earnest and hurried down the stairs without a backward glance.

  Jamie, however, looked back in her direction, and from the expression on his face, he wasn’t happy to see her. He pierced her with a glowering look, giving her every indication that he was about to storm over and vent his displeasure. She smiled sweetly, which seemed only to outrage him further. But fortunately (as she had an inkling of what might be behind that dark look), he was prevented from coming over by a voice calling from outside.

  “My laird!”

  He looked back over his shoulder at the men in the barmkin below to respond and after a quick exchange, with one more irritated glance in her direction, retraced his steps down the stairs to the courtyard.

  It amazed her how quickly her clansmen had come to depend on him. She doubted they even realized it themselves and probably would be horrified to have it pointed out. Old prejudices would take a long time to die.

  It struck her that Jamie was in a very difficult position, straddling both sides of the Highland line—a Highlander who was sympathetic to the Lowland government. Embraced by neither and distrusted by both. On one side there were Highlanders—unwilling to relinquish the unfettered authority and way of life they’d enjoyed for hundreds of years. On the other was the king—made increasingly powerful with the added strength of England behind him. In trying to bring the two sides together, Jamie had distanced himself from both. It was a difficult—and lonely—path he’d chosen. But vital, Caitrina realized. Without men like Jamie to negotiate the treacherous road of change, they could all end up like the MacGregors. It was a sobering thought.

  Beth and the other serving girls had gathered around her and looked visibly relieved when Jamie departed the hall.

  Caitrina could see from their faces that they wanted to say something. “What is it, Beth?”

  The girl hesitated, blushing a little as if she didn’t know quite how to put it. “We just wanted to say that … uh … we all admire you, mistress, for what you have done. And for your, uhm, bravery.”

  Bravery? “What for?”

  Beth lowered her voice, her eyes darting to the doorway where Jamie had just disappeared. “You know, for marrying the Henchman. Did you see how he yelled at poor Robby and Thomas? They were just trying to help.”

  “He was right to speak to them so; the lads could have been hurt.” She didn’t want to point out that the young men had been trying to impress them in the first place. But it was clear the girls hadn’t seen it the same way she had.

  If only they would give Jamie a chance.

  She stopped, stunned by the direction of her thoughts and by how closely she’d allied herself with her husband. He’d done so much for her; why was she realizing it only now? Not just in rebuilding Ascog, but in seeing it restored to her clan in the first place. She knew his brother had wanted it, yet Jamie had risked Auchinbreck’s displeasure for her. And that hadn’t been the first time. When he’d heard of the attack on Ascog, he’d raced back and tried to stop it. Then later, he’d risked Argyll’s displeasure by withholding the location of the MacGregor until he could negotiate his surrender, knowing what his safety had cost her father. He could have killed the MacGregor, the man he’d been hunting, but he hadn’t. He’d done this for her, as a show of good faith, and what had she showed him in return? Suspicion and distrust.

  The truth hit her hard. If she wanted her people to accept Jamie—to give him a chance—it had to start with her.

  He was her husband. It was her duty.…

  No. It had nothing to do with duty, but everything to do with the confusing tangle of emotions she felt for him. Emotions that she feared had taken hold and would not be easily dislodged.

  “And the way he looked at you. It frightened me near to my toes.” Beth shivered. “If he’d looked that way at me, I would have turned and run.”

  The other girls nodded furiously, and Caitrina smiled at their dramatics. “Oh, he’s not so bad.”

  All three girls looked at her as if she were
daft.

  “No, he’s worse,” a man said. “And you’ll do well not to forget it, lassie.”

  Recognizing the voice, Caitrina turned at the interruption to see Seamus carefully making his way down a ladder. As one of the few men with experience in construction, he’d been given the task of overseeing the necessary supply of wood for the construction. Jamie had honored him with the responsibility, not that you would know it by Seamus’s resentment.

  As promised, Caitrina had talked her father’s guardsmen into submitting to Jamie, though she almost wished she hadn’t. Seamus was stirring up trouble.

  “I’ve not forgotten, Seamus,” she said quietly. “But you can’t ignore the good he’s done around here. He’s given me no cause to distrust him.” She turned back to Beth and the other girls. “Nor is he the ogre people have made him out to be. We need to give him a chance.” When they didn’t look convinced, she pointed out, “He is our laird now.”

  “Not for long, God willing,” Seamus said.

  He wore a certain look on his face that sent a chill of foreboding through her. She frowned, hoping she had misunderstood his intent. “It will be some time before we have a son old enough to become laird, Seamus.”

  At the rate they were going, a child would be a miracle.

  Jamie had just reentered the hall and was heading straight for Caitrina when he overheard her unexpected defense of him and experienced a flare of hope.

  It was the first sign he’d had in the almost week since they’d been at Ascog that she might be softening. He’d begun to wonder whether he’d done the right thing in removing himself from her bed. He’d wanted to give her time, to make her realize that what they had was special. To miss not only their lovemaking but him. The long, cold nights, however, had begun to chafe. He worked himself almost to the point of collapse every day to take his mind off his lovely bride, but her constant presence was like a burr under his saddle.

  He was too damn aware of her and found himself watching her at the most inopportune times. His only conciliation was that he knew she watched him, too. It felt less that they were man and wife and more like two cagey lions circling each other.

  At times, he felt as if he were watching a completely different person from the one he’d first met. Gone was the pampered and indulged lass dripping with silks and laces, and in her place was a determined young woman who swabbed floors all day long in a gown not fit for a servant.

  For a girl who’d once dressed like a princess, the change was startling. Despite his repeated offers of new clothing and jewels, nothing she wore bore any signs of wealth. Her hair, which had once been twisted in elaborate arrangements, was now tied back simply at her nape with a thin, tattered black ribbon and had lost its lustrous shine.

  But the changes went far deeper than appearance. At one time he’d thought her oblivious of what was going on around her, but nothing could be further from the truth. He was surprised by how perceptive she was of her people’s needs. From organizing the men to aid the women who’d lost husbands in the attack with their fields or livestock to offering a hug or the squeeze of a hand in comfort—Caitrina was there.

  The open display of love and affection he’d once witnessed her shower on her family had transferred to her clan.

  Yet rightly or wrongly, Jamie craved it for himself.

  The destruction of her home and family had forced her to grow up and take on more responsibility. He could admire the woman she’d become, but not all the changes were welcome. She’d been disillusioned, and there was nothing he could do to give her back her youthful naïveté. He would do anything to see joy in her eyes, untainted by sadness and loss.

  But his more immediate concern was her health. He could see the signs of weariness on her pale face and knew she was probably getting as little sleep as he. She was working too damn hard, and he wasn’t going to sit around and let her drive herself to exhaustion.

  She’d claimed once that he’d wanted her as a possession, as a pretty ornament to have by his side. If there had ever been a hint of truth in her appraisal, there wasn’t any now.

  He would be proud to have her by his side, not for her beauty, but for her strength and resilience. For her spirit and passion. For the drive that matched his own. And for the compassion he’d witnessed countless times this past week with her clan. It was she who comforted, even though she had lost more than anyone.

  His desire for her had nothing to do with possession and everything to do with how she made him feel—she’d touched a part of him he hadn’t even known existed. Feeling. Emotion. Sentiment. All these things had been alien to him until he’d met Caitrina.

  He’d never noticed how alone he’d been.

  The very first time they’d made love, he’d known she was different. He’d lusted for many women, but none had ever made him want to hold her in his arms forever. Never had passion and emotion been entwined. When he came inside her, he felt not just physical pleasure, but pleasure that claimed every part of his body and soul.

  At least that was the way it had been for him.

  Her claim that she’d come to him out of duty still stung.

  Duty. How could one word wield such a powerful blow?

  The irony, of course, was that duty was the tenet he held most sacred. Duty to his chief, to his clan, to his family. To his wife.

  Never had he expected it would be wielded against him with such devastating effect.

  He didn’t want her duty, he wanted her love and desire. He wanted her of her own free will—because she wanted to, not because she had to.

  He’d been angry with her a few days ago, impatient with her for not seeing him for what he was. But she needed time. After losing so much, naturally she would be scared to love again.

  He’d vowed to hold out until she came to him, but with each day that passed, his temper was getting progressively more strained—at any moment ready to explode. He felt like a bear roused in the middle of winter. Hungry.

  He drew closer, but they’d yet to notice him.

  Seamus answered her, lowering his voice. “A babe is n—” He stopped midsentence, sensing Jamie’s presence, and turned to meet his gaze.

  Jamie arched a brow. “Don’t let me interrupt. You were saying?”

  Seamus smiled. “I was just commenting that we will all look forward to the day when a Lamont rules again over Ascog.”

  That wasn’t what he was going to say at all, but Jamie was already on his guard where the Lamont’s embittered guardsman was concerned. “A day that will be a long time in coming,” Jamie countered. “And one that might never come if we don’t get this roof on.”

  Seamus took the hint. “Aye, my lord,” he said, and climbed back up the ladder to oversee the men moving the wood up the tower.

  Jamie didn’t miss the subtle dig—the English “lord” rather than the Scots “laird”—and neither did Caitrina. She looked as if she were going to say something, but Jamie took her arm. “Don’t. I can handle him.”

  “But—”

  “It’s what he wants. His taunts do not anger me. I’m just as much a Highlander as he is, though he might like to pretend otherwise.”

  The young serving girls Caitrina had been standing with had quickly made themselves scarce, but not without first peeking at him as if he were the devil incarnate.

  Their fear appeared to upset Caitrina.

  “Doesn’t it bother you?” she asked.

  He shrugged.

  “It must.”

  He sighed, having learned something of his wife’s persistence this past week. She would not stop until he answered. “Long ago I stopped trying to change people’s minds. They’ll believe what they want. Whether I’m a villain or a champion depends on whose side you are on.”

  She wrinkled her nose. A tiny, not-so-crooked nose that was currently smudged with soot. “I never thought about it like that.”

  “Not everyone despises me, Caitrina. I do have my admirers,” he said dryly.

  Her eyes
narrowed. “What kind of admirers?” He shrugged. “The female variety, by any chance?”

  He grinned at her expression, realizing she was jealous. “Oh, there’s lots of variety,” he teased, and laughed when her mouth drew together in a tight line. He ached to soften that mouth with his lips and tongue. “One day I’ll take you to Castleswene to meet a few of them.”

  He waited for her reaction. He’d spoken of a future, though it wasn’t at all clear whether they had one.

  She nodded, and he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

  He took a step toward her. “Caitrina, I …” He dragged his fingers through his hair, not sure what he wanted to say.

  “Yes?”

  How could he tell her he wanted her back in his bed? He’d vowed to give her time.… Oh, hell. “We need to speak,” he said instead.

  The edge of wariness in her eyes told him he was right not to press. “About what?”

  He took her hands in his and turned them over, palms up. They were red and dry, with angry-looking blisters and jagged scratches. “About this.” She tried to pull her hands away, but he held firm. “It has to stop,” he said gently. “You are working yourself to the bone. If you don’t slow down and get some rest, you are going to collapse.”

  She turned her eyes from his gaze, and he could see the stubborn set of her mouth. “I’m fine.”

  “You are my wife, not a scullery maid.”

  “Is that what this is about? Appearances? There is work that needs to be done, and it doesn’t care by whom. This is my home. You’ll not force me to sit by and let others work while I embroider and play the lute.”

  The picture of domesticity sounded fine to him. He would love to hear her play for him. But he did not think she would appreciate his honesty at this point, so he tried a different tack. “It’s not safe with all the dangerous work on the roof going on. You could be hurt.”

  She lifted her chin a little higher and met his gaze, not giving an inch. “If it’s safe enough for the others, it’s safe enough for me.”